Pretend We're Dead

by Mark Timlin

  ‘What is there to be sure about?’

  Diamond.

  ‘It’s going to get heavy.’

  ‘That’s what I signed on for.’

  Twenty-four carat.

  ‘I love you,’ I said. And I meant it. I hope that when you say it to a woman and really mean it, it makes up for all the times you said it to a woman, and didn’t.

  ‘I love you too,’ and she came close and kissed me. ‘Is that a loaded pistol in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?’

  ‘Both,’ I said.

  ‘How are we going to get in?’ asked Dawn, suddenly serious. ‘Won’t the place be sold out?’

  ‘You just watch,’ I said, and we crossed over the road to the theatre which had a big the virgin mary rhythm revue plus support sign plastered across the front where they used to advertise what movie was playing.

  There were a few disappointed punters peering through the big glass doors of the place and, as we headed towards them, several shady-looking geezers detached themselves from the shadows and headed our way. The first one to get close was a ratty specimen wearing an orange and turquoise shellsuit and Nike high-tops.

  Fashion god.

  ‘Need tickets, folks?’ he asked. ‘The Virgin’s due on any minute.’

  ‘You read my mind,’ I said. ‘How much?’

  ‘Front stalls, thirty-nicker tickets, to you, guv, and your lovely companion, a snip at a ton each.’

  ‘Getaway,’ I said.

  ‘And I’m losing on the deal,’ he said.

  ‘Course you are,’ I remarked.

  ‘Come on, guv. You know it makes sense. Buy from Terry, your satisfaction guaranteed. Established nineteen eighty-five.’

  ‘That gives me a lot of confidence.’

  ‘So it should, guv. So it should.’

  ‘They’re not forgeries?’

  ‘Would I?’ he pleaded. ‘Ask anyone. I’m here every night, regular as clockwork. I couldn’t afford to knock out snides.’

  ‘All right, Terry,’ I said. ‘You’ve talked me into it.’

  His sense of relief was almost palpable. He must have over-bought for the evening, and time was getting on.

  Quick as a flash two tickets appeared in his hand from nowhere.

  ‘Over here,’ I said, and we walked back into the gloom from where he’d appeared, and I pulled out a handful of cash.

  ‘Got many left over?’ I asked.

  ‘A few. That’s part of the game.’

  ‘So’s this,’ I said, and kicked him just below the knee. He went down on to it on the pavement with a crack, and I said, ‘Give us all you’ve got, son. This is a hold-up.’

  ‘Christ,’ he said, and I raised my fist as if to hit him. I was getting well sick of the rock and roll game. Everyone involved was at it. Give me an honest tea leaf any day.

  ‘All right, guv,’ he moaned. ‘Hold on.’ And he pulled out another handful of tickets which I took off him.

  ‘Thanks, Tel,’ I said. ‘Ain’t free enterprise grand? Now you just stay here quiet for a bit, and none of us will be making a claim on our medical insurance. Get my drift?’

  He nodded, and I patted him on the shoulder, and Dawn and I went back round the corner and towards the main entrance.

  ‘That was a bit naughty,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve never liked touts,’ I said. ‘He was lucky I didn’t take his money too,’ as I returned mine to my back pocket.

  A few of the punters were still waiting by the doors. ‘Want some tickets?’ I said as we passed them.

  Of course when you offer someone something for nish, no one ever believes you.

  ‘How much?’ said one spotty-faced midget in flared purple polyester strides, standing with half a dozen or so of his mates.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take ’em or fucking don’t,’ I said, and stuffed them into his hand and passed through into the foyer.

  Altruism, where is thy sting?

  29

  We walked into the foyer and across to the doors that led to the auditorium, past the concession stands selling The Virgin Mary CDs, tapes, T- and sweat-shirts, scarves, badges, books, posters and every other kind of shit the management and record company could screw the Billy Bunters for. I handed our tickets to the geezer in the monkey suit guarding the door, and he tore off the stubs and handed me our halves back. Inside I could hear the sound of the crowd like a wild animal about to be unleashed.

  ‘She’s on in one minute,’ he said. ‘You’re just in time.’

  I nodded, and we passed into the bowels of the theatre where a wave of hot air that smelled of perfume and sweat and adrenalin assailed us.

  As the doors swung shut behind us, the lights went down and a recording of ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ to which a thudding bass beat had been added boomed out of the speakers that ringed the theatre.

  ‘I love the smell of napalm in the morning,’ I whispered in Dawn’s ear. ‘It reminds me of victory.’

  She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  As the music surged, the audience rose to their feet as one and the curtains on stage drew slowly back. The stage itself was black, and then, with a crack like thunder and a brilliant white light, began a pyrotechnic display that made Guy Fawkes’ night look dull.

  ‘Come on,’ I shouted in Dawn’s ear. ‘Let’s find the way backstage.’

  We walked down the aisle on the right of the theatre where fans were already running down to the front for a better view of what was to come. Just by the side of the stage was a door with a dimly illuminated sign saying exit above it. We ducked inside as the band ran onstage and picked up their instruments to a roar from the crowd.

  As the door hissed shut behind us, the music started with a hypnotic bass, electric organ and drum rhythm, and a howl of feedback from the lead guitar.

  Dawn and I headed in the direction of the rear of the building, turned a dog leg in the passageway, and saw another geezer in evening dress, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, guarding an unmarked door. Bingo!

  We walked up to him, and he pushed himself upright with a quizzical look on his face. On one lapel of his cheap dinner jacket was a badge that read Premier Security, with norman typed neatly underneath in capitals. Premier Security, I’d had dealings with them before. Some of their operatives carried guns. On the other lapel was clipped a laminated Access All Areas backstage pass.

  The sound of the music was muted back where we were and he had to raise his voice only slightly to be heard. ‘Help you?’ he said.

  ‘Backstage?’ I said in reply.

  ‘Gotta pass?’

  I nodded, reached under my jacket, pulled out the Colt .45, slipped the safety catch and stuck the gun in his lip. ‘Access all areas,’ I said.

  30

  The geezer’s face fell. ‘What the…’ he said.

  ‘Save it, son,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t even begin to understand. Dawn, take a squint inside. See if anyone else’s about.’

  She did as she was told, while I held the gun on the security man.

  She stuck her head round the door, then withdrew it. ‘No one’s there,’ she said.

  ‘Inside,’ I said to Norman.

  He did as he was told too, and we entered the backstage area of the theatre. Inside was a narrow corridor painted dark green and illuminated with dim bulbs mounted behind metal mesh, one every six feet or so at head height on the walls. The corridor was deserted and the sound of the band was louder. The Virgin Mary was screeching a song about the coming of Satan. Uplifting stuff.

  ‘See if Norman’s got a gun, babe,’ I said to Dawn. ‘Check his armpits, waist and ankles.’ Dawn did as I asked her again, working from behind him. When she’d finished she shook her head. ‘No gun,’ she said.


  Opposite the door we’d come through was another door made of slatted wood, with the words fire hose painted on it in faded red letters, and fastened with a small bolt that was old and pitted with rust spots. I slipped the bolt and opened the door, still keeping the gun on Norman. Inside was a small, dark cupboard with the requisite fire hose wrapped around a green iron skeleton shaped like a wheel that was bolted to the wall. On the floor were two battered water fire extinguishers.

  ‘Get in there,’ I said ripping the laminated Access All Areas pass off his lapel.

  He started to protest and I pushed the barrel of the gun on to the end of his nose. ‘It’s loaded, Norm,’ I said. ‘And no one’ll hear the shot. The music’s too loud. Swallow it, son. I know it’s a bastard, but you were just unlucky. You got the short straw tonight.’

  He shrugged, sighed, turned, and went into the cupboard. I almost felt sorry for him, but not that sorry. I raised the Colt and whacked him on the side of his head, just below where his thick dark hair was parted. He stumbled and hit the floor. I shut the door and bolted it. I was getting good at hitting people from behind. Maybe I should start giving lessons.

  Dawn didn’t say anything, but I don’t think she liked it.

  ‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world, babe,’ I said.

  She didn’t reply, but I think she sighed too. Hell, it was her who wanted to be a detective. Get involved in the family business.

  I pinned the laminated pass to her leather jacket. ‘If this all goes pear-shaped,’ I said, ‘you can just melt into the background. Pretend you’re a groupie or something.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t knock it,’ I said. ‘Remember. No blow job, no backstage pass. Isn’t that how it goes?’

  At least that got a faint smile. ‘I really don’t know,’ she replied.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go see what we can find.’

  I stuck the gun back under my jacket and we went down the corridor in the direction that the noise of the band playing was coming from. Around the next corner, on top of a wheeled flight case, was a navy blue baseball cap with an elasticized strap at the back, and The Virgin Mary’s corporate logo picked out on the front in yellow thread. I picked it up and tossed it to Dawn. ‘Put that on,’ I said. Her blonde mop was too distinctive and I wanted as few people as possible to remember her later.

  She stuck it on her head at a jaunty angle.

  ‘Rock chick,’ I said. ‘You really look the part now.’

  ‘Cheers,’ she replied, and I took her arm and we went off to see the wizard.

  31

  We walked around the next corner, and there was another, huge, silver, wheeled flight case shoved up against the wall. No hat on this one though. Instead a couple of serious babes were sprawled all over it. They were ignoring the music from onstage. I guess if you’ve seen one rhythm review you’ve seen them all. In fact, in my experience, the people who hang out with rock and roll bands never actually bother to watch them. Strange that. But true.

  The babes were both blondes. In their late teens I guessed. They were both slim and pretty sensational-looking. In the street they would probably have stopped traffic. One was wearing sheer black tights with a black skirt that would have made a fairly decent pelmet when she was standing up. Half lying down, the way she was, it rode up her thighs and you could almost see what she’d had for breakfast. Almost, but not quite. But I did manage to work out that under the tights she was wearing white knickers. Hell, I’m a detective aren’t I? With the skirt and tights she wore a white blouse sheer enough to let anyone, not just a detective, see the white lace of the camisole top she wore underneath. The other one was wearing a pair of ancient blue jeans, that looked like they’d been sprayed on, and a distressed Levi’s jacket, open, over a tiny black bra that barely contained her full breasts, and pushed them up to show plenty of cleavage. Both wore high-heeled black boots with pointy toes. Handy for squashing bugs.

  The pair of them also wore mirrored aviator shades. It must have been pretty weird looking at each other, because all they’d see was reflections of themselves. Come to think of it, that was probably the idea.

  Naturally, they also both sported Access All Areas passes.

  I felt Dawn stiffen when she saw them, even though we weren’t touching. I just knew her by now, and the way she reacted to some other females, and I’d bet that if I’d looked at her, her eyes would have gone all slitty. I didn’t look. I didn’t need to. She didn’t like them on sight, and that was the end of it.

  In fact they pretty much looked like her, only ten years younger. But I thought this would be an inopportune time to mention it.

  As we got up close, and I was doing my detective work on the one with the black skirt, she turned to her friend and said through a mouthful of pink bubble gum, ‘We gonna check out the party, Pattie?’ She was American. New York by her accent.

  ‘Sure. Why not?’ replied Pattie. American also. New York also. ‘It’ll probably be pretty much of a drag though.’ She gave the impression that everything was probably pretty much of a drag to her. Sex. Drugs. Rock and roll. Life. Death. And everything in between. The whole kit and caboodle in fact. Jaded by twenty. Not bad.

  I stopped, and Dawn almost cannoned into me. ‘Where is the party?’ I asked.

  Two pairs of silver mirrors turned in my direction. I could see four of me. Hey, I looked OK.

  ‘In the Green Room,’ said the one that wasn’t Pattie. She tugged her skirt down, but it was made of stretchy Lycra, and rode straight up again, thus accentuating the fact that her crotch was showing, rather than disguising the fact. I felt Dawn bristle beside me. I didn’t mind at all.

  ‘Where’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Upstairs. You can go right round the back, and take the elevator, or use the metal steps by the side of the stage.’ She pointed a red-tipped finger in the general direction that we’d been heading.

  ‘When does it start?’

  ‘It already started.’

  ‘Terrific.’

  ‘You lost your pass, handsome? You won’t get in without it,’ the one who wasn’t Pattie asked, and made the useless gesture of pulling down her skirt again. With a great effort of will, I didn’t look up her skirt. It was tough, but I managed it. I could feel Dawn’s eyes on mine, and I knew that if I merely flickered them in that direction, I was toast.

  ‘He’ll get in OK,’ said Dawn. ‘He’s with me.’

  Both the girls turned their bins in Dawn’s direction. ‘Oh really,’ said Pattie. ‘How divine.’

  I felt Dawn bristle even more and, remembering that she had a knife stashed somewhere on her person, I said, ‘The party beckons, honey. Let’s go for it.’

  ‘See you later,’ I said to the two babes, and the one that wasn’t Pattie wiggled her fingers in my direction.

  Dawn glared at the pair of them, and I took her arm and gave it a gentle tug. She allowed me to lead her along the corridor. As we went I winked at Pattie and her friend whose name I’d probably never know. One or both of them might have winked back. Who can tell with mirrored shades?

  But as we turned the next corner I heard the one that wasn’t Pattie say, ‘Cute.’

  ‘Cute,’ said Dawn, glancing back. ‘I’ll give her fuckin’ cute.’

  ‘Handsome too,’ I remarked, and she punched me on the arm. Hard enough to hurt.

  ‘What do you want to go to a party for?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘It’s a start. We could look for Quinn and his mates all night down here. Let’s swing with the in crowd. It can’t hurt. And we can get a drink. I’ve been hitting people on the head all day. I think I deserve one. If there’s no one we know up there, we’ll come back down. OK?’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Dawn.

  ‘And besides, the girls will be up there later.’

  She hit me on the arm again. Harder this ti
me, if anything.

  We went deeper backstage, and the music got louder, and we passed a whole load more of the detritus of rock and roll as we went. Both animate and inanimate. Although sometimes it was pretty hard to tell the difference. But no one paid us any particular attention, and eventually, when we got right up by the stage, close enough to be able to see The Virgin Mary and her Rhythm Review cutting the mustard for the punters, we found a green-painted metal staircase that vanished upwards into the gloom of the cavernous roof of the building. We took the stairs up into darkness past the scaffolding for lights and a bunch of flats from some long-forgotten show that were festooned with weights on heavy ropes for counter-balance.

  The music boomed from the walls as we climbed until eventually the stairs ended on a metal balcony with a heavy fire door at the far end.

  ‘The Giant’s kingdom,’ I said above the sound of the music. ‘Here there be dragons.’

  ‘You’re mixing your fairy tales,’ said Dawn. ‘And I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m the cow that you’re going to sell for a handful of beans.’

  ‘As if,’ I said back as I pushed open the door. When it closed behind us it cut out most of the sound, which was a relief. I was getting tired of The Virgin Mary’s particular brand of heavy metal techno, or whatever it was, and I could have done with total silence. I must be getting old.

  The words green room, with an arrow pointing further along the corridor we found ourselves in, were painted in fading green on the wall. A clue at last. We followed the arrow, then the sound of a lot of people having a good time, until we found the party.

  There were a bunch of ‘now’ people standing in the corridor outside the room. There were a load more standing inside. They were all holding glasses. Some were holding two. Obviously booze was more appealing than The Virgin Mary. I could do no more than agree. There was a huge Premier Security guy in a Virgin Mary silk tour-jacket minding the door. His name plate read Big Mal. I almost fainted from fear. The bar on the far side of the room was crowded, and in one corner I saw, sitting on a window ledge, looking pale and unhappy, the geezer that Dawn had stuck with her flick knife. He was wearing a denim jacket. His uninjured left arm was in the sleeve, but the right sleeve hung empty and his right arm was in a sling. He was alone.