The women sat down, intrigued. “I’ll make this short and sweet, but this going to be the basis for the songs, if you buy into it.” They both nodded, so he went on, “If you read today about relationships, or listen to TV shows that do that stuff, which are very popular, they all talk about what they call inner qualities. They mean characteristics like honesty and sensitivity to others, and integrity. These talkers refer to them as inner, and there is the implication that this is spiritual stuff. The message to people is that if you match a man’s inner stuff to a woman’s inner stuff, then the relationship will be happy, and conversely if one of the people is deficient in this inner stuff, then there will be problems in the relationship.” Paul stopped and looked at the women, sensing if they understood what he was saying. “This stuff sounds good when someone with skill expounds on it, in a magazine article or on TV; it sounds sort of romantic and sort of mysterious and sort of spiritual. And it’s very hard to criticize. Who disagrees that integrity is a good thing? But, when you think about it, it’s really a lot of very squishy and slippery stuff. What is integrity? What does the word spiritual mean? Does it mean you actually believe in spirits; non-corporeal beings of some kind that float around in space, invisible, but that actually affect peoples’ lives?” He stood up and paced the room. “When people talk about inner qualities, it sounds good, is hard to criticize, and is easy to accept. But these things also are hard to pin down when you want to understand why some love relationships endure and others fall apart. The bottom line is, I don’t believe in inner qualities. I believe the opposite. I think relationships depend on outer qualities.”
Anna said, “What do you mean?”
“It simple, really. It’s so much more simple and real than talk about inner characteristics. I mean that the success of a love relationship depends on physical actions that people do outside themselves, and especially the things they do, or don’t do, together. Out there, on the street, in houses, on planes, driving down roads, walking through woods. Physical stuff, not spiritual stuff. Relationships fail more because of what people don’t do together, rather than what they do do together. People who love and care for and about each other over many years, have many common shared interests, out in the world. They do stuff together all the time, and they enjoy these things, or at least get some kind of satisfaction from them. The people who drift apart are those who don’t have a lot of shared interests. They are the couples in which one person likes to do certain things, and the partner doesn’t.”
Stella said, “What are common shared interests out in the world? What do you mean by that?”
“Simple. Nothing fancy or mysterious, like the inner spiritualists want to throw at you. Here’s a list, off the top of my head, not that all these are things I like to do, but they are very popular: eat out at restaurants, cook nice food at home, go to sports events like cricket or tennis matches, read in bed at night, do church activities together, hike in the woods, camp out, drink good French wine, take kids to playgrounds, travel around the world, grow flowers in the garden, drive around in boats, watch old movies on TV. See? See what I mean? Simple stuff, outside in the world, together. If a couple has lots of these interests in common, their relationship will endure, and it has nothing to do with inner stuff. If the couple doesn’t do a lot these types of things together, they can kiss their partnership goodbye. That’s the truth, as I see it. That’s reality. That’s what’s important, and what I want to write songs about.” Paul sat down and looked at his daughter and her friend. “What do you think?”
Just then they heard the squeal of the iron door hinges, followed by the sound of Jools footsteps coming down the corridor. He came into the living room and opened his mouth to say something, but Anna cut him off. She was stoked from listening to Paul. “Asshole, don’t you ever knock at that door? Do you do that at other people’s houses, barge in? Do people do that at your house? Do they?” She wasn’t screaming, but she was very challenging. Stella and Paul smiled. They really liked this beautiful thirty-something that starred in Spielberg movies and packed a gun when she went out for dinner. Again Paul wished he was thirty years younger.
Jools closed his mouth, not really taking offense. He liked Anna, too. Then he said, “Whose house? This is your house, now, is it? This bunker in which I, we, are holding you captive, serving our wishes. You want me to knock on those big iron doors before I enter? My knuckles wouldn’t take that. But, perhaps my manners have been in abeyance, somewhat. Such an unusual situation we have here. Such uncharted waters. Such a road less traveled. What?”
“Cut the shit, Jools. Knock when you come in, like a good butler. What do you want?”
“Piano tuner’s here, outside. You have to go up to the house while he works. And Scotilly needs to interrogate you some more. See if you’re going to keep your heads, or not. Come along, like good girls and boys.”
Paul stood up and said, “Think about what I said just now. That’s what I want the songs to be about. I want them to grip people and carry them away with the music, but leave them with the potential to learn these ideas I have. I think they are true and real. If you do too, we can make great music together. The opera will be incredible.”
Jools said, “What ideas? If you have ideas, you have to tell me and Scotilly. We command here; this is our opera. We’re the patrons? You’re just the artists. You do what we say.”
Anna stood up, crossed the floor to Jools, and grabbed his left ear with her right hand. She dragged him out the living room door and down the corridor, him squealing, her telling him that if he didn’t shut up, she’d serve Scotilly a salad with his nuts in it instead of radishes. Paul and Stella followed behind, smiling at their girl.
Chapter 31 – Another Kidnapping
The NNs sat in the motel coffee shop trying to figure out how to find the three kidnappees, while at the exact same time the June’s hunters (Jinny, Constantine, Richard, Stirg, and Nev) sat on the deck of Stirg’s yacht, also trying to figure out how to find the same kidnappees. The NNs were eating hotdogs and drinking Bud light, while the other team was eating foie gras and caviar, and drinking a ten year old white burgundy. The last time the June team had been this close to Stirg’s ship was when he had tried to use it to cleave their sailboat into two equal parts, separated by water. They all figured, let bygones be bygones. For now.
Richard said, “So what do we know about these kidnappers?”
Constantine said, “Which one? The actual ones, or the wantabees?”
Jinny said, “We know the wantabees are neo-nazies. And we know they have seen and talked with the actual kidnappers on the street, because they told him that,” motioning to Stirg. “We’ve only talked with the actual ones, who are two people, a crazy woman and an English guy. We don’t know where either of these groups is, or how to find them.”
Richard said, “What do these groups know?”
Jinny said, “Which groups? There are four, including Paul and Anna and Stella as one, and us.”
Constantine said, “Paul, Anna, and Stella know the real kidnappers, and us. They also know about the NNs, from King Street, so they have the whole picture. They know we’ll be looking for them, but they may not know the NNs are looking for them. Maybe, but maybe not. The kidnappers know the other three groups, too, but they may not know that the NNs are hunting them. The NNs know all the groups, since they just met us. So there are two hunter groups, us and the NNs, and two prey groups.”
Jinny said, “So the kidnappers are a prey group? How’s that?”
“They started out as a hunter group, but now they’re a prey group. You ever see that cartoon drawing of a little fish that is followed by a bigger fish that is followed by a shark that is followed by an orca? There’s always someone bigger than you, after your ass. That’s how it is here.”
Richard said, “We need a big piece of chart paper to make a diagram of all these groups
and who and what they’re after. So where’s that leave us, as a hunter group? I think we’re a hunter group, unless there’s someone bigger after us. Right?”
Stirg said, “The NNs are after us, sort of. They’re after Anna to get to me. Whether they’re gonna come directly after me, I don’t know. You ready for them if they do?” he asked, looking at Nev.
“Ready, boss.”
When Richard asked, “So what do we do now?” everyone took a sip of their wine, a thimble full of their caviar, and looked up at the sky.
The NNs were progressing no better. They’d each eaten four hotdogs and drunk three light beers, and had been sitting in the coffee shop for an hour and a half. They couldn’t go through the same brainstorming process the June team had because, well, because they were a little short on brains. The BMIBC had sorted through the who knows who scenarios, but he wasn’t about to try to lead his brothers through that logic. He said, “Either we try to find the Stirg bitch and the kidnappers, and kidnap her from them, or we go after Stirg directly, and forget about the ransom. I kill Stirg, and get my revenge.”
The other two guys didn’t like the second option very much, the one that included the proviso that there would be no ransom. The MSMIBC tiptoed around the issue by saying, “How are we going to support the movement if we don’t get a ransom? Isn’t that what we’re here for? The movement?”
The NSSMIBC looked at his white sneakers and said, “What movement?”
The boss man said, “Ok, ok. We go after the ransom and the revenge. We go after the bitch and the Beatle guy; when we have them, we go after Stirg. Now, how do we find the bitch?”
The MSMIBC said, “Why don’t we try the same thing as before? The way we found her the first time? It was easy to find out where Stirg lives, because he’s a celebrity here. We watched his house, saw him meet with his granddaughter and her boyfriend, and we watched them at the boyfriend’s house. We followed her from his house to the hotel, and then to the restaurant, and then we tried to snatch her on the street. Right? We know where the boyfriend lives. Let’s go talk to him. Maybe he knows where she is.”
The BMIBC looked at his buddy, then at his other buddy, and wondered where this had come from, this idea. This good idea. He couldn’t figure out where it had come from, so he just said, “Let’s go.”
Back on the yacht, Nev and Jinny were eyeing each other, wondering who could drink more wine without showing it. Constantine and Stirg were talking about the old days in Saint Petersburg. Richard was worrying about Anna and wondering how he’d gotten himself into this situation. There wasn’t a lot of detective work going on. Not much tracking of the prey, hunting down the quarry. Just eating and drinking. Gwen wasn’t around to kick their asses, so they were fucking off. Constantine got it together and said, “We don’t know where they are, but we have the advantage over the NNs because we’re working with Paul and Stella, and they call us and talk with us. They won’t tell us where they are, because they have a deal with the crazy woman and the butler to do the opera. But we want to find them anyway. We’re not going to sit around for two months until the production is done, because we don’t like people kidnapping our friends. Not good for our image or our self-esteem. So what do we do?”
Jinny gave off trying to stare down Nev, and started pacing the deck. He’s a very good thinker, and walking usually produces results in that department, but not this time. Maybe the burgundy was in the way. After a while he shrugged his shoulders and looked at Constantine, who said, “Maybe we better try this again tomorrow, without the wine and caviar. Let’s get out of here.” Looking at Stirg he said, “We’ll call you tomorrow.”
It was mid-afternoon when the three Junies split up, each heading home: Constantine to rendezvous with Slev, Jinny to meet Guignard, and Richard to his lonely condo. No Anna. He parked in the garage and walked the half block to his building, deep in thought. He didn’t see the three guys sitting in the Ram pickup down the block, and wouldn’t have cared if he had. They knew him, but he didn’t know them. They were taking turns napping, the light beers having gotten the better of their powers of concentration. One would stare down the street while the other two leaned their heads against the rear window. It was the NSSMIBC that saw Richard approach his doorway, and nudged his boss in the ribs. “There he is. There’s the boyfriend.” The other two woke up and looked where he was pointing. “Let’s let him get inside. Then we pay him a visit.”
The boss man said, “No, the building will be locked, and we don’t know his name to buzz him. We gotta get him now.” He hopped out of the truck on one side and the other two got out on the other. They ran down the street and followed Richard through the outer door and into the vestibule, where he had taken out his electronic entry card and was swiping it through the keypad on the inner door. “Not so fast, friend. Can we talk a minute?”
Richard was surprised, and sensed trouble. Three guys in black clothes, smelling of beer. “What do you want?”
“You a friend of the Stirg girl?”
“Who are you guys?”
“Are you a friend of the Stirg bitch?”
Richard didn’t answer, and now knew this was real trouble.
“I think you are. I think you know her. Where is she now?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about?”
“You sure, boy? Sure you don’t know the Stirg girl? Cause we think you do.”
Richard didn’t say anything.
“You’re coming with us. Keep quiet, everybody’ll be ok. You mouth off, we hit you in the head, and do the same with your girlfriend when we find her. In the head, Bam. Ok?”
He said, “Ok.”
And that was that. There had been another kidnapping.
Chapter 32 – No Time for Reading
Jools led the piano tuner along the trail through the thick vegetation to the bunker. When the guy stood in front of the massive steel doors set in the face of the concrete wall, he said, “What the hell is this? I came to tune a Steinway, not go on a history tour.” He had grown up in Charleston and knew about the Spanish American War and WWII bunkers on Sullivan’s.
Jools said, “Don’t worry, the piano’s in here. We have a rock band that has their studio in here, with a Steinway. They’re pretty good musicians, and are looking for their first break into success.”
“An unknown band playing in a concrete bunker has a $100,000 Steinway?”
“We’re their benefactor.”
“Oh.”
Jools showed the guy the piano and said, “How long is this going to take?”
“Depends on how out of tune it is. Maybe an hour.”
Jools went back into the main house, where he found Scotilly talking with Paul, Stella, and Anna. She was saying, “How many songs are done?”
Anna was about to lay into her, ask her why doesn’t she try to write original songs for an opera while living in a place with no windows, when Paul answered, calmly. “I have the concept for the opera, and we’ve been talking it over. They’re thinking it through, seeing how they like it and can contribute. If this is to work, it’s gotta be a team effort, the three of us.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway. How about we call up the producers, the impresarios, and you can run the concept by them and me at the same time?”
Paul looked at Anna and Stella, and said, “Fine.”
Looking at Jools, Scotilly said, “Dial up the Junes.”
“The number we have is the boyfriend’s. Richard. I don’t know if he’s with the Junes all the time, but he’s our contact.” He pulled out Anna’s cell and did the speed dial.
At this exact moment the three NNs and Richard were crammed into the cab, sitting shoulder to shoulder, the engine idling in the parking lot of their motel. They were debating whether the motel was a good place to keep a kidnap victim. When Richard’s phone rang, the BMIBC said to the NSSMIBC, “Answer it.”
&n
bsp; “Yo.”
Jools said, “Richard, my boy, is that you? You sound different.”
“This ain’t no fucking Richard. Who are you?”
“My good man, to my friends and betters, I am Jools. To you, sir, I am Mr. Smythe-Woolmington, III. Where is Richard?”
“He’s here, but he can’t talk. You can talk to us. Us are the ones who got him. And you’re the guy we met on King Street, aren’t you. The guy with the accent and the poker up his ass.”
The three women and Paul were listening, and it dawned on them who it was. Now what was happening? More shit, that’s what. Anna looked around and said, “It’s the three idiots that tried to grab me when you were trying to grab Paul. The guys in black clothes.”
Stella said, “And one with white sneakers.” She shuddered at the thought.
Scotilly said, “Are you the three we met on King Street a few days ago? If you are, I believe we have some property that belongs to you.”
The BMIBC said, “Yeah, you do. We’d like the guns back. And we want other stuff too. Cause we have some property that belongs to you. We got Richard, and he’s sittin right here with us, ain’t you boy?”
Richard said, “I’m here.”
Anna said, “Are you ok?”
“Yes.”
“Have they kidnapped you?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think so. I don’t think they’re taking me out to dinner.”
The boss man said, “Let me clear that up. Yes, he’s kidnapped. And we got demands, big demands. You don’t meet the demands, he’s the one gonna end up out in the harbor, with no boat back. We’ll call you tomorrow,” and he motioned to cut the call.
The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney Page 13
