by DaNeo Duran
‘Get lost.’
Mazz gasped as Johnny slipped the lighter between Hal’s fingers and squeezed. Hal’s knees crumpled like he could escape the pain that way.
‘You detuned my guitar.’
Raging Reprieve’s singer ran towards them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Tell him,’ Johnny said to Hal.
Mazz looked at Hal’s face. When he couldn’t hold back longer he said, ‘Okay, I messed with your guitar. I’m sorry.’
Johnny let go. Hal went to speak but he beat him. ‘Go on I dare you. Say what’s really on your mind.’
Hal’s furious look didn’t suggest remorse.
‘I won’t ask you to apologise to Mazz, you wouldn’t mean it.’
Turning to the singer Johnny apologised. Restoring the peace he asked, ‘Got many gigs booked?’
‘We’re at The Water Rats tomorrow with about a hundred other bands.’
‘Cool, well good luck with that. We’re playing round the corner from the West Ham pub where we met.’
* * *
Only in the van on the way back did Mazz face the cargo area where Johnny sat on the keyboard cases and enquire, ‘Why did you lie and tell them we were gigging in West Ham tomorrow?’
‘I didn’t lie. I didn’t say we were gigging; only that we’d be playing there. And we’re rehearsing in the youth centre. Can’t have him thinking his crappy band’s got more gigs than us.’
Saturday 31st January 1981
‘I might get back from lunch late,’ Johnny said to Stu on their way to work the next morning.
‘I’ll cover for you,’ Stu said. Noticing Johnny had his guitar with him he asked, ‘Something up with your guitar?’
‘It’s fine. The case has a hole that needs sorting.’
That afternoon Stu gave Johnny a nod and watched him sneak off before his allotted lunch time.
Johnny arrived back to the market’s busiest Saturday since Christmas.
‘Sorted?’ Stu asked.
‘Absolutely,’ Johnny said bagging apples for a customer.
* * *
That night in West Ham halfway through rehearsal they put the lights out and played through the tracks they’d discussed taking to studio.
Whilst performing Stu considered how the darkness seemed to clean the sound; crystallising it so everything found its place. He wondered how they’d get the sound and feel onto tape when the time came.
‘When we going in the studio?’ Mazz asked after the lights came back on.
‘In a few weeks Just as soon as I’ve paid Geoff back,’ Johnny said.
‘I’m getting a job,’ Christine said smoothing the roughened surface of her Logan keyboard.
‘Are you?’ Mazz asked. ‘Since when?’
‘Since now.’ She looked at Johnny. ‘I know I was a right cow when we met but you’ve contributed enough getting me these keyboards. It’s unthinkable that you and Stu would part with savings without input from me and Mazz.’
‘What sort of a job?’ Stu asked.
‘Anything going on the fruit veg stalls?’
Johnny walked over and inspected her hands. ‘No chance, your skin’s too lovely for that.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out for something,’ Stu said, ‘if you’re sure.’
‘Please.’
To Christine, Johnny seemed distracted as they struggled to get back to rehearsing.
Eventually they decided to wrap up early so she suggested they go to the pub. But when they arrived Johnny made excuses and left a perplexed Stu alone with Christine and Mazz.
* * *
Several hours later Johnny arrived home, dumped his guitar case in the deserted kitchen, flicked the kettle on and excitedly waited for Stu who thankfully arrived before it had cooled.
‘How d’you get on?’ Johnny said standing and slapping his back.
‘How did I get on?’ Stu asked barely recognising his friend in a suit he’d never seen. ‘Never mind that, what’s up with you; why’re you acting weird?’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah.’ Stu poured himself a mug of tea.
‘This is my old Scarf Ace suit. Check out my wig.’ Johnny said pulling a blond wig from under the kitchen table.
‘Where d’you get that?’
‘The markets.’
‘Why?’
‘Guitar case,’ Johnny said knowingly.
‘What about it?’
Johnny nodded towards it.
Stu saw it leaning against the wall. Resting his mug he popped the clasps and saw what his eyes couldn’t believe. Behind him Johnny started laughing.
‘Is this what I think it is?’ Stu said laughing too.
‘Yup.’
Stu handed Johnny the sunburst Stratocaster. ‘How?’
‘Nate said the guitar would arrive when it’s time.’
‘And now’s the time?’
‘Now’s always the time. After I heard it through three amps I knew it was the only guitar for me.’
‘What about Hal?’
‘Mate, he had no clue what he was holding. He doesn’t deserve it – being rude to Mazz.’
‘Agreed. So, when d’you get it?’
‘I flew to Nate’s at lunchtime. I told you my case had a hole that needed filling. I bought that crappy guitar he showed us the other day; gave him twenty quid for it.’
‘Right, but what about Hal’s Strat?’
‘After rehearsal I came back here, grabbed the crappy guitar and went to Raging Reprieve’s gig,’ Johnny said and then pointing to the blond wig added, ‘in this disguise.’
‘The Water Rats?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How d’you find it?’
‘Good, we should play there.’
‘Cool. Actually I meant how d’you know where it was?’
‘Yellow Pages. Anyway the singer was right; there was loads of bands. And chaos. Nobody noticed me pretending to tune the cheap guitar. Hal’s case has the band’s name all over it so I pretended to tune his guitar too but his case ended up with the cheap guitar, some cash and a note.’
‘Cash and note?’
‘I couldn’t just nick his guitar.’
‘You didn’t, you gave the pillock an instrument more suited to his ability.’
‘Maybe, but I left him the change from Geoff’s loan.’
‘Blimey Johnny, we could’ve put that towards recording.’
‘It would’ve jarred my conscience.’
‘You should’ve got me to do it.’
Johnny laughed. ‘Thanks, but that would’ve jarred too. It had to be me. That’s maybe why I didn’t tell you sooner.’
‘Well you’ve done it now; too late to ask for the money back,’ Stu said seeing Johnny stare at the guitar doe-eyed like a Labrador with a bone.
‘She’s a beauty,’ Stu said. ‘What did the note say?’
Johnny put the guitar down. ‘It said, Sorry, but I’ve bigger plans for the Strat than you.’
‘Cheeky. You don’t think the other guitar could get traced back to Nate?’
‘Nah, he’s miles away. Plus I gave Nate an idea what I was up to. He said he’d already forgotten about it.’
‘Have you played it yet?’
‘Yeah,’ Johnny said half-heartedly.
‘And?
‘It sounds good – really good.’
‘That’s great isn’t it?’
‘Actually it sounded better in Hal’s hands.’
‘No way.’
‘We’ll see. It’s better than my Squire anyway.’
‘And it’s not wasted on Hal. D’you think they’ll suspect you?’
‘Doubt it. They think we’re gigging in West Ham. Plus Hal’s got other enemies.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Someone told him repeatedly switching valve amps on and off is good for them,’ he said gazing through the transparent finish to the wood beneath. ‘But I can’t take this public without a paint job.’
‘Very true,’ Stu said. ‘Wha
t d’ya reckon?’
‘Dunno, sand it down and spray it?’
Stu nearly choked on his tea. ‘I meant what colour. There’s no way you’re spraying a guitar that’d cost you four months wages with car paint. It needs lacquering, properly. I’ll do it. I did it loads on my art course.’
* * *
In his room Johnny looked into the wood for ages.
‘What makes you so special?’
The guitar seemed to emanate calm. Propping it in the corner he watched it from his bed recalling emotions from years earlier on the day his brother had died.
Monday 11th June 1984
A little before 9am, more than twelve-hundred miles east of Kansas City a silver-haired man swept onto the thirteenth floor of the office where he worked.
‘Oh, he’s just arrived,’ his pretty assistant said into a phone. Looking up at him she said, ‘Call for you sir.’
‘I’ll take it in my office, thanks Stacey.’
His heart quickened knowing who’d be calling. Stepping into his office he closed the door, nodded through the blinds to Stacey and picked up when he saw the light flash on his phone.
‘What can you tell me?’ he said.
‘It’s Kyle.’
‘I know,’ he said exasperated. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘Nothing yet,’ Kyle said.
‘Well I guess that’s better than bad news.’
‘She’s not said anything; I don’t know what she knows. But I’ve had an idea. Hopefully I’ll get you concrete info in the next couple of days.’
‘Couple of days? Time’s running out for me here,’ he huffed. ‘Must I remind you, whilst you might have gotten what you want out of this I haven’t and you needn’t think that’s my problem; I’ve still got your number.’
At the other end Kyle made him wait before saying, ‘Just give me a couple or so days.’
Then phone went down. The silver-haired man replaced the handset. He knew what he wanted and if Kyle would hurry up and confirm one tiny detail he’d get it.
He sat back.
Knocking, Stacey entered. ‘Coffee sir?’
Wednesday 04th February 1981
Johnny agreed with Stu in that they should lacquer the stolen Strat themselves to save money and avoid risk should Hal have put out and APB on it.
For that they’d need a workshop. And, whilst Johnny had been off learning poker with Geoff, Stu had found one. Unfortunately the owners wouldn’t rent them bench space so Johnny had decided upon a more elaborate plan.
In his room one February night he took a deep respectful breath and set to dismantling the Strat.
Switching his radio off, he spoke to the instrument as a surgeon to a patient. After cutting the strings free he unbolted the neck and, admiring the joint where shoulder met body, concerned himself that whatever happened with the lacquer the joint would have to remain perfect.
With the most delicate of touches he removed knobs, screws and electrics labelling and placing everything in envelopes such that it could be reconstructed identically; right down to the last screw.
When he finished he went downstairs to knock on Stu’s door. Stu appeared dressed for the February weather and with a length of rope they’d lifted from Edward’s van.
‘Ready?’ Stu asked.
‘I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.’
They left the house and a mile or so later checked the workshop’s perimeter as they’d done the previous night.
‘So far so good,’ Stu said.
Handing his bag to Johnny, Stu jumped onto the bins and shinned up the drainpipe. On the roof Stu caught the rope Johnny threw and hoisted the bag containing the guitar’s body.
‘Okay, window,’ Johnny panted when he joined Stu on the roof.
It took them long finger-freezing minutes fiddling to release the roof window’s catch. Finally Johnny lifted it and Stu lowered his feet to the roof’s metal frame where he fastened the rope and slid into the workshop below.
Johnny followed.
They hit the lights. Choosing the nearest bench they set to relieving the body of its sunburst finish.
‘Okay,’ Johnny said pulling off the borrowed goggles and holding up the completely sanded wood, ‘let’s put the tools back and get outta here.’
* * *
‘That was an adventure,’ Stu said on the walk back to the house.
‘And it will be again when we go back tomorrow to lacquer it.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Stu shook his head.
‘What d’you mean?’ Johnny said stopping, almost stamping his feet.
‘We can’t spray it there.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, it requires four coats with treatments between each. We can’t keep spraying the place blue night after night.’
‘So what do we do – I don’t wanna leave the wood like it is?’
‘Nobody will recognise it now so you could either take it to a pro; or choose option-B.’
‘Which is?’
‘We return tomorrow and nick a spray gun.’
‘Cool.’ Johnny started walking again. ‘Which option d’you prefer?’
‘B.’
‘Thought so.’
‘While you were sanding I checked the lacquers. When we go back we’ll choose the colour.’
Thursday 05th February 1981
They set off the next night to the workshop. February had been windy but that night an unusual stillness meant the lads heard nothing but their own movements and voices.
‘How was poker?’ Stu asked jumping onto the bins.
‘Good I think,’ Johnny said passing two empty bags to him. ‘I get how the cards go but then Geoff beats me. There’s a lot of tactics to consider.’
‘What happens if you lose against this Leonard fella?’
‘It doesn’t bare thinking about. But Geoff won’t set it up till I’m ready.’
‘Then we’ll hit the studio?’
‘Yeah, I don’t fancy risking it before then. Plus Mazz still needs more practice.’
‘Scary how far she’s come though,’ Stu said gripping the drainpipe and climbing to the roof.
Minutes later the lads dropped to the workshop floor. ‘Lights.’
Stu searched shelves throwing Johnny sanding blocks, finest grade wet and dry sandpaper a half used tub of cut and finish, solvents and buffing sponges. Everything went into their bags followed by facemasks and the essential spray gun.
‘Okay,’ Stu said, ‘Time to choose the colour. You ready?’
Looking though the shelves none of the basic colours inspired Johnny. Though he liked the metallic dark blue of his Squire he wanted a change.
Stu didn’t want to be longer than necessary but knew these things couldn’t be rushed.
‘Let’s mix some colours and you can choose the best.’
Johnny suggested they start with royal blue.
Stu poured some into a container. ‘What’s right and what’s wrong about this?’
‘It’s goodish but it’s too bright – and boring.’
‘Okay.’
Stu stirred some black in but Johnny didn’t like it enough so he went to the shelf and picked out the navy blue and poured it into a second container. ‘What about this?’
‘Too dark.’
Stu stirred some white in.
Johnny liked it but less than the darkened royal blue.
Reaching for a third container Stu slopped most of the royal blue into it. Johnny stirred as he added the lightened navy by drips.
‘Can you see what’s happening?’ Stu asked.
‘I can,’ Johnny said. ‘It’s getting better.’
‘Great, stop me before it goes too far.’
Several splodges later Stu stopped and looked at Johnny. ‘Thanks man. That’s it.’ The two lads studied the dusty looking blue. ‘It’s not like anything I’ve seen.’
‘Are we going for it?’
‘Yeah.’
To a
dd even more uniqueness Stu added the tiniest amount of green before transferring the paint to a can. ‘That should be plenty for three coats.’
‘I thought you said it needs four coats?’
‘Right. We need a can of clear finishing coat.’ Securing the lid he found a tin for the final coat. ‘Let’s bag them and get out of here.’
‘Did you hear something?’ Johnny gestured Stu to silence.
‘Don’t mate. I’m edgy enough.’
Johnny ran for the lights.
‘What you doing?’
‘I think someone’s out there,’ Johnny hissed sliding Stu the second bag who immediately began scrambling up the rope.
Biting into the bag’s handles Johnny pulled hand-over-hand through the darkness after him.
High in the roof’s frame Stu said, ‘Are you sure you heard something?’
‘Not certain.’ He slipped his arm through the handles and recovered the rope. ‘But I couldn’t face prison again.’
‘Again?’
‘Just kidding.’
‘Knock it off,’ Stu said shoving the window open. ‘If there is someone out there they’ll have seen the lights go out.’
‘Sorry, I only thought about that afterwards.’
‘Might be okay; maybe nobody’s coming,’ Stu said climbing out onto the roof.
No sooner had he spoken than the workshop’s shutter door rattled open.
‘Bloody hell.’ Johnny threw the bags to him and scurried after him.
‘Who’s in there?’ a voice beneath them said.
‘Crap, someone’s in the building,’ Johnny said lowering the window gingerly.
‘What do we do?’ Stu said as fluorescent lights flickered on, pouring out the glass. ‘If we move he’ll hear us.’
Johnny cursed the same night’s quietness that had allowed him to hear whoever now stalked them.
‘Should we just try legging it?’ Stu said.
‘He’s got the advantage of distance.’
‘Couldn’t we deck him?’
‘I don’t know. You don’t think he’s armed do you?’
‘Let’s not find out. What if we run away from the door – he’ll have to run towards it then the full length of the building.’
‘Good point.’
‘Let’s distract him first.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘If we could get him to the far end of the workshop he’ll have further to run. We might make it.’
‘I like you’re thinking,’ Johnny said. ‘What can we throw?’
Stu rifled through the bags. ‘One of the sanding blocks.’
Daring a peek through the glass Stu saw a uniformed man directly beneath them.
‘Lift the glass mate.’
Johnny did so and Stu leaned silently in.
‘Hurry up,’ Johnny urged in whispers.
Stu waited for the man to turn from the far wall then, holding his breath, hurled the block. Pulling back through the window Johnny saw the man’s head wheel towards the object clattering at the workshop’s far end.
