by DaNeo Duran
‘You’re keen aren’t you?’ Graham said handing it over.
Johnny took it and held its body at arms’ length. As if a switch had been pressed the room appeared to fade; his attention fixed on the guitar. A symbol of hope.
‘It’s beautiful. Is it yours?’ he said not wanting to lose himself completely.
‘Yeah, it’s one of two I own. I leave it here for Liz to learn on. Go ahead, play it. You don’t need an amp; it’s hollow bodied.’
He pulled it into a playing position and traced a finger around the f holes.
‘Let’s hear you,’ Graham urged.
Johnny considered the request. ‘Before I … last week I had been practicing this.’
He fished in the otherwise empty jeans pockets and found his plectrum. Learning to fingerpick whilst holding a plectrum had been challenging but with diligence he’d managed it.
He performed a sequence of lush chords Mr Evans had shown him describing it as a get the girl piece on account of its romantic mood. He’d intended playing it for Miss Wilkinson.
‘Hey that sounded great,’ Graham said. ‘What else you got?’
Johnny played and Graham complimented him on being so good for his age. ‘Where d’you learn to play like that?’
Johnny nearly spoke but as if his tongue had frozen he said nothing.
‘Oh,’ Graham said. ‘Liz mentioned you wasn’t very forthcoming.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry.’
After an hour of passing the guitar back and forth Johnny reckoned Graham must be almost as experienced as Mr Evans and had an unrivalled passion for rock music. Johnny learned new guitar techniques and of new bands. Eventually Liz appeared breaking their laughter.
‘Upstairs Johnny. I’ve run you a bath.’
‘Oh.’
‘Use the blue towel.’
He handed the guitar back. ‘Thanks Graham.’
‘Any time.’
‘Be back here dressed in thirty minutes.’
Thirty minutes later having left the bathroom the way he found it Johnny stood in the lounge.
Liz said, ‘Put your shoes on. It’s a warm day so you won’t need your coat.’
‘Where we going?’
‘Clothes shopping.’
‘These are brand new.’
‘Yeah, you need more than one set.’
‘I haven’t any money.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll claim it back.’ She asked Graham, ‘You coming?’
‘Nah, I’ll stay and practice guitar.’ Suddenly his face lit up. ‘Hey Johnny, I thought of a really good name for when you join a band: Johnny and the Used Ones.’
‘Oh Graham, that’s horrible.’ Liz said.
‘It’s brilliant,’ he said.
‘I’ll grant you it’s ingenious.’ She looked at Johnny. ‘If you start a band promise me you’ll think of another name.’
Johnny nodded but couldn’t help but say, ‘I like it.’
‘Exactly,’ Graham said.
Liz tugged her boots on. ‘It’s rude.’
‘Only rude people would think that,’ Graham said. ‘You must be one of them.’
* * *
In the city of London Johnny and Liz got on well. Though she didn’t spend much cash she made sure he looked good with essentials and a sports bag to put his stuff in.
They went round record shops and together chose Queen’s, Queen II album. Liz said Graham and he could work out the guitar parts.
* * *
They returned to the house to find Shaun’s sister Diana had called round to visit Samantha. She’d grown curious about Johnny from her brother. Liz invited her to stay for tea.
A year older than Samantha, Diana looked even more the young lady and Johnny had to concentrate not to stare at either of them.
With the five sitting round the kitchen table Diana mentioned the previous night’s escapade. Though Johnny had attempted to save Shaun embarrassment it seemed he’d told his sister the night’s particulars with shameless accuracy.
‘Liz told me it was two against two,’ Graham said.
Diana speared her cabbage. ‘Three against one.’
‘So, after getting duffed in by three older lads, you picked yourself up and confronted them head on?’ Liz asked.
‘Well—’
‘One against three,’ Diana chipped in. ‘Shaun said they didn’t stand a chance. That lad who took his coat’s one of the hardest in his year and Johnny knocked him clean out.’
Sensing Liz’s astonishment Johnny hid his face losing his appetite mid roast potato. He glanced to his left and through his fingers and saw Graham’s giant grin.
‘So that stuff you were practicing on the lawn really works?’
‘Graham,’ Liz admonished.
Johnny explained how much his coat and plastic cup meant to him.
Liz raised an eyebrow. ‘I can’t believe that lad who showed up with you would’ve joined in though.’
‘He’s a divvy,’ Diana said. ‘He’ll think twice in future.’
‘Well that’s something at least.’
Graham came back from the fridge.
Johnny had been saying something but stopped hearing the pssst of Graham’s beer can being pulled open.
Gradually he became aware of everyone silently watching him watching the beer can.
‘Something wrong?’ Graham asked.
Johnny didn’t know what to say.
Liz touched his hand. ‘Beer’s only a problem for a small number of people Johnny.’
He nodded saddened that his new friend would drink at all. He looked at Graham who looked the most serious he’d seen him.
‘You know what Johnny,’ he said, ‘you’re right. This stuff doesn’t even taste nice. I don’t know why so many of us do it.’
He walked to the sink and tipped it away before binning the crushed can. ‘Who’s for coffee?’
‘Lethal hands and a pathological hatred of beer,’ Liz commented.
After tea Johnny insisted on washing up. The girls went out and he and Graham played more guitar.
When Liz reappeared she showed him the room he’d sleep in for the next two nights. ‘D’you think you’ll manage to make it up the stairs tonight?’
Monday 06th May 1974
Johnny had spent Sunday with Graham and Liz singing and playing guitar and showing Graham the principles of his four martial art disciplines. He slept later on Monday but still got up before Liz.
Soon Samantha left for school and Graham for work. Johnny found himself alone with Liz. Instead of leather pants she wore a skirt and blouse like an office worker. Time for the dreaded conversation.
Sitting him down with a cup of tea Liz told him how much she’d enjoyed his company and thanked him for the work he’d done helping around the house.
‘Would you like to stay here – if it could be arranged?’
Johnny nodded but knew that wouldn’t be possible.
She explained that she worked for Social Services.
Though Liz spoke to him about trust he kept saying, ‘I’m Johnny now.’
He knew Liz could only guess what had happened as she talked about extenuating circumstances. But for Johnny trust or not, Liz could neither guarantee the ogre would never see him again nor that he’d get to keep his new name.
‘I’m Johnny now,’ he said shaking his head.
‘Okay love. Try not to get worked up. We’ll come up with something. Just try and help me understand.’
He told her what he could in general terms. ‘Can you understand why I would rather sleep under bushes or in shop doorways than live or even see that monster again?’
She nodded. ‘Okay. I understand. I can’t make you say anything you don’t want.’
‘I’m Johnny now.’ What more could he say?
Given his determination to protect his original identity their options came to a head. Either, he went back to sleeping in doorways and stealing food or he could go with her,
trusting that would lead somewhere else – hopefully somewhere better than the streets.
They agreed to keep his secret safe and she’d help find him a bed somewhere. He’d have to go back to school but she’d invite him each week for Sunday lunch with her and Graham.
For the first time that morning he smiled. He thanked her and they set off for the bus stop.
On the bus he considered his weekend. He’d won a fight. He thought he’d won a guitarist friend won a bed for a couple of nights and won meals, won new clothes. He’d won a lot.
Stealing himself against what lay ahead he reiterated, I’m Johnny now. The word now turned backwards. I’m Johnny Won.
* * *
After the bus journey and an eternity in a Social Service waiting room he found himself in an interview with a serious lady called Audrey.
‘We’re here to help,’ she said. ‘It’s no longer Victorian times for orphans. This is the 1970’s, we’re civilised.’
Johnny listened through the false friendliness.
Audrey continued. ‘We don’t play games around here but, as Liz has mentioned, we can’t force you to talk so we’ll have to yield to a certain degree – for now at least.’
Johnny tried but couldn’t get comfortable. He stared at Audrey’s name plaque on her desk.
She explained what she had in mind. Johnny imagined it’d be like a police cell. But he’d already considered that a better option than the streets. Things seemed to be looking up especially as he had Sundays with Liz and Graham to look forward to.
‘So,’ Audrey said pulling the top off a pen and shuffling papers, ‘until we find out your real name we’re creating a temporary ID for you. We’ll keep the name Johnny seeing as you’re so set on it; though it sounds more like a nickname. Your new surname will be Smith, okay?’
‘Smith?’ Johnny couldn’t keep the distain out his voice.
‘Yes.’
‘Why Smith?’
‘It’s popular and solid.’
‘I’m Johnny Won.’
‘One, like the number; what kind of a name is that?’
‘Not like the number; like winning.’
‘It’s ridiculous; unheard of.’
Looking at her name plaque he said, ‘Well your surname’s Starns; I’ve never heard of that. But it’s okay isn’t it?’
‘The Starns go back a long way and there’s plenty out there if you look.’ When Johnny said nothing she said, ‘I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t really matter but don’t complain to me when people tease you about it. It might be okay if a judge approves it. Now then, date of birth?’
‘Twenty-first of April 1960,’ he said without thinking.’
‘Is that real or made up?’
‘Made up,’ he said lying.
‘That would make you fourteen. That is your real age isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s your real date of birth?’
‘Fourteenth,’ he said thinking of anything.
‘Of?’
‘Of April.’
‘Wasn’t so difficult was it?’ She wrote it down. ‘Did you pass your eleven plus?’
He shook his head.
‘Favourite subjects?’
‘Music.’
‘And?’
He had to think. ‘I like English but I’m rubbish at it. I’m good at metalwork though.’
‘Right that’ll do.’ She sent him back to the waiting room.
Ages later she appeared. ‘Have you got everything?’
He patted his coat and the bag Liz had bought him.
‘Can I have a second Audrey?’ Liz said appearing from another door.
‘Yes.’
‘I meant with Johnny,’ she said when Audrey didn’t move.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll be outside.’
With her gone Liz said, ‘D’you even know where you’re going?’ When he shook his head she said. ‘She’s taking you to a house in Hither Green.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Not far from here or my house. You’ll be okay there if you take care and watch your back. Be nice to everyone; don’t get in any fights d’you hear me?’
He nodded.
‘Okay. Don’t keep Audrey waiting. Give me a hug.’
When he headed for the door she called after him. ‘Promise me you’ll come for Sunday lunch at noon.’
He promised.
Out in the sunshine away from the building’s gloom he found Audrey, predictably impatient.
They rode in her Austin 1100 and, as Liz had described soon arrived at Wasdale Street, Hither Green.
He dawdled after Audrey who marched up a long path to the front door of a large Victorian house.
So much for the Victorian times, Johnny thought.
Audrey knocked and a man who couldn’t have been older than thirty opened the door.
‘Come on,’ Audrey said rushing Johnny along, ‘meet your carer. This is Michael Heth.’
Johnny shook hands with the lanky brown haired man.
‘This is Johnny Won, Audrey said rolling her eyes.
‘Johnny Won,’ Michael said, ‘that’s a good name; not come across any Wons before.’
He seemed nice. ‘Thank you Mr Heth. I’ve never met any Heth’s either.’
‘Call me Mike. Is that everything?’
He nodded.
Mike turned to Audrey. ‘Have you got his documents?’
Audrey handed over some paper and said she’d better get going.
Once inside Mike said, ‘Bet you’re glad to see that back of her?’
Johnny smiled.
‘You had lunch?’
‘No.’
‘Let’s have some soup, then I’ll show you round.’
Mike showed him a dining room with two eight-seater tables. Whilst Johnny spooned soup, Mike read the notes Audrey had written.
‘History unknown. Fair enough.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Highly practiced in martial arts.’
‘I won’t be if I don’t get back to clubs soon.’
Mike explained he’d be able to train on grants.
‘I must warm you though Johnny. Don’t upset people in here. If they think they can’t beat you in a fair fight they’ll get you in your sleep. We receive funding for all sorts of characters. We strive for harmony but given some people’s history we don’t always get it.’
Johnny nodded. He guessed as much.
‘Good lad. There are four dorms upstairs two for boys, two for girls. Each dorm sleeps four and we’re almost always full.’
A woman around Mike’s age wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt joined them. Seeing her smile and soft blonde hair Johnny knew he’d be okay.
Mike chuckled. ‘This is my wife Helga.’
‘You’re the new boy?’ she asked in a foreign accent.
‘Johnny Won,’ Mike said.
Oklahoma, OK: Wednesday 06th June 1984
When the USed bus pulled into Oklahoma, Johnny couldn’t believe Dane had arranged simultaneous radio interviews.
But Dane had done a good job and Stu realised that over the past two days Dane had been doing well.
‘Christine you go with Stu,’ Dane said. ‘Johnny you take Mazz.’
That made sense but it gave the lads a problem.
Stu and Johnny looked at each other understanding the logic of boy/girl combinations. But the plan to ring Zora in Kansas before she left the office without the girls knowing had now been thwarted.
‘There’s no way round it,’ Johnny said privately to Stu.
‘What about Mazz?’
‘I’ll just have to tell her.’
‘Before you speak to the PI?’
‘After, if I can.’
Just before 4:30pm Mazz led the way into Northeast 23rd Street’s baking sunshine. The radio interview had gone well.
She mopped her brow. ‘Why d’you tell them to wait twenty minutes before sending us a taxi; isn’t it time for soundcheck?’
Johnny shielded
his eyes straining to spot a payphone in either direction. He asked a pedestrian who pointed into the sun.
‘Three hundred yards sir.’
‘Come on Mazz I’ll explain on the way.’
Three hundred yards later and to Mazz’s frustration Johnny had explained virtually nothing.
Told to wait out of earshot she hoped for everyone’s sake that Johnny’s call would be whatever he needed to hear.
A few minutes later he stood by her side.
‘What’s up?’ she asked linking his arm.
‘Bad, bad news I’m afraid.’
When Johnny filled her in on what had happened the previous weekend she felt the blood drain from her face. She shivered despite Oklahoma’s dry heat.
Johnny explained how Linda had helped and his rumble with Benedict Beatty. ‘I’m sorry so sorry babe.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not mad. I know you were trying to do the best thing for us all like you always do.’
‘I know but—’
‘It’s okay.’ They’d stopped walking. She looked him in the face. ‘As long as we’re together gigging and recording that’s enough. If we have to pay Linda back bit by bit that’s fine by me.’
Johnny’s heart went out to the eighteen year old bass player. He couldn’t have wished for a better reaction but that just made him want to put the situation right all the more. He didn’t dare tell her about the uncertainty Vanquar hung over them.
‘So what happened, on the call?’ Mazz asked eventually.
‘Zora couldn’t tell me who the bastards are. The ID in the wallet was forged. Zora had apparently guessed but checked anyway. My pocket rubbed the wallet clean of all but my fingerprints.’
‘What about the registration plate?’
‘Fake too. It was for a Plymouth that got scrapped months ago.’
‘I’m sorry Johnny. Did she check for stolen cars?’
‘Yep. Apparently a Lincoln Continental was hoisted that morning from an office car park in Lawrence. Believe it or not it was returned at some point the same day. Some poor sap came back to find his car had a smashed steering column.’
‘Could it be the same car?’
‘Possibly, but the cops don’t know who took it.’
* * *
Johnny waited until after the night’s show before separating the band members from crew and management. Whilst crew and management hit bars the musicians sat aboard their tour bus in near darkness.
Johnny explained how he’d lost the money before telling them his motivation for gambling such a large amount.
Christine reacted differently from anyone else. She had no problem believing that Johnny had been victimised.
She wanted blood. ‘I’ll be dammed if I’m gonna let these parasites get away with this.’
But nobody could think how to catch the unknown thieves and the group soon found itself in a dead-end given how few people who knew about the money in the account
