We Are Toten Herzen

by C Harrison

"Fucking amen to that, Lance," said Wallet to the television.

  28 (June)

  Wallet listened to all the activity in the farmhouse: the whispers, the tapping of laptop keyboards, the ticks and clicks of gadgets, the plastic soundtrack of modern preoccupation. What does a publicist do when there's no publicity to talk about? He had considered turning proactive, but that becomes information invention and, historically, Micky Redwall was the arch-master of that technique and look where it got him. All chewed up and spat out. A dog's dinner of a man.

  A publicist starved of information becomes a fidgety, nail biting husk confined to long midnight walks around the perimeters of the farm and in a country as flat and squared off as Holland Wallet was starting to wish he was human again. All this because of a golfing analogy. There was information, but the rest of the band weren't sharing it. He occasionally heard talk of partners, investment, production quality, itineraries. The vocabulary of action; the vocabulary of touring. And what bugged him the most was that this was his idea. Fuck it, he wandered up to their front door like a tinker, put the plan to them, not The Plan, His Plan, and they went with it. The fact that he was jettisoned after one error was evidence of their determination and, he selected a curious word, professionalism. They were serious. Too serious for him. He thought Sony was big, but Sony were like a beached whale, everything out of the water, blubber and all, visible and obvious. This lot were an iceberg; Ninety nine percent hidden.

  Susan came out of Elaine's room with the A4 sheet Wallet had printed off. She waved it at him. Was that gratitude? She wouldn't say if it was. Her personality was a maze, but it had a key and the key was her collection of diaries. Susan Bekker's instruction manual. Every action, mood, statement, emotion, wish, opinion, the whole system, was forged in the furnace of her diaries. She had given him just enough material to get to the core of her existence: the creation of her love for music, the genesis of the band, the revelation of the life changing Valentines Day in 1974. All the fundamentals were in one book, but for Wallet the smaller details could be the most significant, particularly the contempt she had revealed for the album cover photo shoot awash with blood, revelling in the vampire image with all its gory awkwardness. He didn't know if that was the conclusion she was hoping he'd come to, but those formative years helped him to understand her behaviour now.

  He stared at his laptop, returned to DuckDuckGo and waited for inspiration to create another list of purchases, another inventory of nostalgia. The webcam on his laptop pointed its beady eye at him and without words suggested an idea that floored him with its brilliance. He rushed out of his room. "I'll be back in an hour," he called to anyone who could be bothered to listen. No one responded.

  -

  The time was almost five am when Wallet knocked on Susan's door. She was sat cross legged on the bed with her laptop balanced on a pillow. She was lost to an online discussion with someone, typing then pausing, typing then pausing. Occasionally she'd smile or laugh gently, shake her head, open her eyes wide; expressions Wallet had never received. "I've got a present for you," he said.

  "Thank you," said Susan without looking up.

  "Something you've wanted for a long time."

  "That could be one of a number of things."

  "Mm. I think you'll like this. It's probably quite high on your list." Wallet waited for her attention. Her body language hardened as if to suggest a pause and she typed some unknowable conclusion, closed the lid of the laptop and followed Wallet as he walked to the bathroom.

  An expectant light was glowing. On the shelf above the sink the toiletries had been moved to one side to make way for a screen, a small flat rectangular gadget about thirty centimetres high. It was a tablet pc propped up like a small mirror.

  A mirror!

  Susan's steps were uncertain, wary of the gadget and what it was doing or where it had come from. She wasn't sure if she wanted to get any closer to it. What had Wallet done? The top of her hair slowly appeared as she crept forward, then her forehead, her curious eyebrows and lines pinching between them. Her eyes were scared, nervous, darkly made up like two heavy shadows. A narrow, aquiline nose above her mouth, lips slightly parted, unsmiling. Her chin completed the picture of her face and finally there she was, blinking, breathing, living. Her pupils were tiny black dots surrounded by brownish red circles; she had laughter lines etched ever so gently across her skin, mixed with the faintest blue capillaries that meandered across her temples. She had seen them before, but in pictures they were always still, lifeless, just a record of the moment. A possible fake. She had never seen them alive, but now she knew they were real, they were moving with her. She reached to touch the screen and her own hand reached back towards her. She didn't know her eyelashes were so long, or that the cleft above her top lip was so narrow. The gentle bulge of her mouth where it covered her canines was now obvious; she could see her tongue rolling over them. She stroked her cheekbone, and the bridge of her nose, the near straight line of her chin. When her face tightened she could see it responding, her mouth was starting to curl upwards and as she watched and waited a solitary tear escaped down her face and paused before dropping from her soft round jaw. This was the same woman she remembered from the last time they met. She hadn't changed, hadn't changed a bit.

  "You need to remember to invert the image horizontally," said Wallet hesitantly.

  "What? What do you mean?" Susan sniffed and leaned on the sink. Wallet brushed her shoulder as he pinched the base of the tablet's screen to reveal a line of icons, one of which was a double triangle.

  "The video camera is for web conferences so it films you the right way round. To make the image look like a reflection you need to press the triangle icons and it flips horizontally. You'll see yourself as if you were looking in a mirror."

  Susan nodded. "Thanks."

  "I'll let you have a play with it. Battery lasts about eight or nine hours so it should be just long enough to get yourself ready." He glanced at her digital reflection before walking away.

  "Thanks, Rob," she said.

  Wallet smiled and quietly closed the door as Susan dropped her head and sobbed.

  29 (July)

  The coming of summer was making normal life complicated as the needs of vampires and humans diverged. Problematic business meetings were held late into the night to avoid the vampires from being fried like bacon, but the midnight hour meant the humans were half asleep. In Rotterdam the band gathered close to Crooswijk cemetery to meet someone who didn't mind working the graveyard shift. Wallet's nostalgia trips were rubbing off on the others and Susan had offered to drive to bring back old memories of being behind the wheel of a car. Squashed in the back, Dee, Elaine and Rene argued about Top Trumps strategies and how to beat the person with the Boeing 747 card. Susan ignored them and parked the Audi close to the perimeter of the cemetery. Everyone piled out except Susan and Wallet.

  "The mirror means a lot to me," she said. "Look, you still have work to do to keep up with us, but I'm feeling a little more confident you might be coming through. What's happening now, all the whispering and the messages, it's something we've been meaning to do for a long time and I mean a long time."

  "The Plan?"

  "Call it the plan if you want. We should have done this a long time ago, but for one reason or another it never felt right and for all your annoying habits and lack of ability it was you who persuaded us that now was the time."

  "I think there's a compliment in there somewhere."

  "Not really," Susan said. "More of an acknowledgement."

  "So why now?" Wallet felt closer than he'd ever been to an explanation.

  "Seeing you compared to Lenny Harper made me realise that our friends are getting older. We could wait forever, it means nothing to us, but, well you've met Almer, you'll meet another one tonight, two actually, sort of." She frowned and studied her nails. She didn't need a mirror for those. They reminded her every time what she was. "So, let's say from here on the plan will become apparent,
what it is, what it means, but in spite of the mirror, if you mess up on this a lot of people will lose out who can't afford to lose out, so that's the weight you'll be carrying. I still need convincing you're here for the right reasons."

  He needed to convince himself. He had been sure at the start, but that reason would get him killed now. Exploit the comeback, make a mint, write about it, live on it for thirty years like Lance Beauly and Jonathan Knight. But insight changes things and Susan's diaries were enough to tell him about all four of them and they were human, whatever crazy nocturnal world they lived in, they were still four twenty year olds with the world in front of them and a chance to take it again and again until they got it right, got it how they wanted. He thought he could help, but that now seemed astonishingly arrogant; admit it, this lot actually had twenty years experience on him, they knew more than he did, more than they revealed, they new more than anyone who dared sit in the same room. They were helping him. "I'm beginning to realise I'm out of my depth," he said, "I just need some steering to what you want me to do. What's best for you."

  "We all have to share the same ambition and you haven't convinced me yet what you hope to get out of all this."

  "If I had diaries I could let you draw your own conclusions. Look, I led a dull life. Then this happened and it all became interesting. I wasn't born to be anything, Susan. I didn't have that gene in me, I always had to think hard about what I wanted. I'm not like you, I didn't have a light bulb moment during a day off from school. I just drift. I drift around because I don't know where I really want to go. You know I've interviewed so many people and they often get asked what would you be if you weren't a singer, songwriter, drummer, pianist, and they say I don't know. That's why they get to where they are, because they can't or won't consider anything else. I never had that single minded outlook, and without that unless you're loaded you won't get anywhere. I need to become like that."

  "You're not here for money?"

  "No."

  "Fame, ambition, achievement?"

  "Achievement probably comes closest. There's not much achievement in writing articles. They don't have a long shelf life, they tend to be forgotten within a week and you have to start all over again, but seeing a band come back to something. Being part of that is an achievement."

  "If it works," said Susan, gripping the gearstick. She ran it through the gears. "Like I said there's still a lot for you to learn." She took the ignition key and opened the door. "Remember, I'm a lot older than you. I know what I'm talking about."

  -

  "If anyone asks we're going to a funeral," said Dee as everyone headed for the entrance.

  "You should have said. I would have dressed for the occasion," said Elaine. Her red leather jacket matched the colour of her hair and both glowed under the intense streetlights.

  Inside the cemetery the footpaths led the righteous and the damned through a variety of dark forms and figures, some more solid than others. They arrived at a crossing of paths and waited quietly. So many observers, so few eyes. After several minutes another figure appeared and slowly came towards them.

  "Is he like us?" said Wallet to Rene.

  "Ooh, no. Not a bit. Same age, but smarter, richer, maybe not better looking, but I'll leave that to the ladies."

  "Yes he is," said Dee.

  "Okay, he's better looking too, but he's a shit bass player."

  The figure approached closer. "A bit melodramatic isn't it, meeting in a cemetery?" he called.

  "I thought you might like the irony," said Susan.

  Rene shook the guy's hand and walloped his shoulder. Susan was more gentle, tender. Hugging him without speaking. The guy stroked her hair back from her face to try to see her in the darkness. "It's a little dark, but I think you look okay," he said.

  "Well I got a mirror now."

  "What?" He stepped back.

  "Marco this is Rob Wallet," said Susan. "Rob, this is Marco Jongbloed, bass player with After Sunset."

  "Nice to meet you," said Wallet.

  "Yeah, you too. How are you adjusting?"

  "Adjusting?"

  "Sorry, I'm assuming you're a corpse like these guys now or didn't you know?"

  "Didn't know I'm a corpse or they're all corpses." This must be Dutch humour, thought Wallet. "They're all weirdos, but then who isn't these days." He shook Marco's hand. It was warm.

  There was a moment allowed for Marco to give Dee a bear hug followed by a more sophisticated kiss on both cheeks for Elaine. "Colour of the jacket's visible even in this light."

  "Nothing ironic about it," said Elaine smiling. Smiling!

  "Marco, Rob doesn't have a clue what's going on," Susan said.

  "Been like that since day one," said Dee.

  "But I think maybe we can start to let him in on things," Susan continued. "Not too much because he has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth, but, you know."

  "People management," said Marco rocking on his heels like someone who knew what people management was. Someone who was well versed in people management. A people manager. "I told you to give clear sets of responsibilities and parameters. I suppose you didn't listen."

  "No she didn't," Wallet jumped in before Susan could answer. "They leave me to do what I want then get upset when I fuck up." They all waited for him to stop. "I'm not part of the Plan, what do I know."

  "How old are you, Rob?" asked Marco.

  "Forty six. Give or take."

  "You were still at school when this plan was created."

  "Okay, so this is where we split up," said Susan. "We can meet back here in a hour." Everyone agreed and Susan and Marco wandered off arm in arm. Wallet hesitated for a fraction of a second.

  "Okay. Come on," said Dee tugging his arm. "Let the lovers have their time together."

  "Lovers? He's three times her age."

  "You're as old as you feel, Wallet. They teach you nothing in the asylum?"

  -

  A wide path ran alongside a canal that curved its way around the cemetery and out of sight. It was lined and decorated with houseboats, all merry in their accessories and trinkets, the painted watering cans and planting boxes, discarded bicycles and satellite dishes. "So what's the story with those two?" asked Wallet. The four of them were sat next to the water, feet dangling just above the surface. Top Trumps in hand (Motor Cycles, so no need to worry about the Boeing 747 card) they passed an hour or so and enjoyed the still of the summer night-time.

  "We've stayed in touch ever since the split in '73," said Rene.

  "Really," said Wallet. "Revs, 7200."

  Rene shook his head. "We made a deal. When Micky formed Toten we said we'd give it three months and if didn't work out we were going back to Rotterdam, reforming and trying again. We'd be a little bit wiser, better players, know the industry better. 6500."

  "7250." Dee waived her card: BMW R 100 RS.

  "Feed me," said Elaine. "8000."

  "What? What's that," said Wallet handing his card to her. "Hercules K50 RL."

  "But it worked out," Rene continued. "We did okay, no need to go back, but we still had that covered too"

  "200 kmh," said Elaine.

  "Ah, fuck it you've got the Munch, haven't you," said Wallet. No one could beat the Munch 1200 TTS so the other cards were handed over. Elaine was on a roll.

  "Susan and I said we'd use our money to help them out if they needed anything," said Rene rearranging his cards.

  "And how did that go, he looks fairly well off," said Wallet. He was holding another losing hand.

  "182 kmh," said Elaine.

  "Ha!" Dee had the winner. "210."

  "210?" said Wallet. "I thought the Munch was the fastest?"

  "Laverda 1000," said Dee. "Come on, hand them over." She gathered the other cards then looked at her own. "Got a right dog here. 7000 revs."

  Rene was still giving the low down on Marco. "He lives just to the west here, Bergweg. Big apartment."

  "City apartment," said Dee. "And he has another hous
e near the coast. Come on, what you got?"

  "8500," said Elaine.

  "8600," said Rene.

  "7600." Wallet handed Rene the Laverda 125. "And was his wealth down to you guys in some way?"

  Rene stopped to think. His Honda GL 1000 had a big engine capacity. "Sort of. But it nearly didn't work. 999cc." He wiped out the others with that and took the cards off them.

  -

  About a month after meeting with Lenny Harper we were staying with Wim, here in Rotterdam, Wim Segers, and we were talking about what we could do for him. It was four years after our agreement, but the fact was we had just enough money to look after ourselves. We did some calculating and Wim suggested Micky Redwall wasn't passing on everything we'd earned, everything we were owed. So we went back to England to see him.

  Micky Redwall was at home one evening when he got a phone call. "Hello, Micky Redwall."

  "Micky, it's Susan Bekker."

  "Susan! Fuck, Susan, where are you, where's the rest of you?"

  "We're outside the Blue Elephant Curry House. We need to talk, Micky."

  "Fucking right we need to talk. Are you coming here or do you want me to meet you there?"

  "Meet us here. Fifteen minutes."

  Micky turned up and we went inside the restaurant. He booked a table for five and received a few funny looks, but you could tell he was on a mission. And so were we. The waiter found a quiet table for us and Micky said we'd choose something later.

  "So, where'd you go. Where d'you go without telling me?" Micky said.

  "Back to Rotterdam. We have friends there who can help us out until all this blows over." Susan was in a belligerent mood that night and as we talked everyone's breathing rate was starting to go through the roof.

  "I can help you out until it all blows over."

  "Can you? I don't think you can." Susan took a small notebook out of a purse. "We've been doing some figures and we think we've sold about eight million albums. And all the concert tickets we've sold and t-shirts, patches, posters. Would you say maybe eighteen million pounds over four years is a conservative estimate?"

  "No." Micky sounded pretty sure. But maybe he wasn't; he still hadn't taken his coat off. "No, not that much."

  "Eight million records alone, Micky, and you've paid us about twelve thousand pounds each, per year. Out of eighteen million." Susan added up the figures again. "Do you want me to tell you how many concert tickets we sold?"

  "No, no, Susan you don't have to add it all up. Look the label takes a cut, promoters take a cut, venue owners take a cut, then there's the distributors, record shops, pressing the vinyl, printing the sleeves, transportation, hotels for all the crew. It all adds up. It all adds up and it doesn't leave much. When you split it five ways, because I need to earn a living as well, you're getting a good whack."

  I don't think any of us were convinced. We knew who was taking a cut, we knew the percentages. Susan knew the percentages. She referred to her figures and came back to answer every one of Micky's arguments. Then the waiter came back.

  "Ready to order sir?"

  "Er, yeah. I'll have a lamb balti," he was at sixes and sevens, probably wasn't hungry. You could have served him a raw potato and he wouldn't have noticed.

  "Your friends not joining you yet, sir?"

  "Friends?"

  "A table for five. I can move you to a smaller table if you wish?"

  Micky caught us smirking, grinning, laughing. I think the penny dropped almost instantly. "They're held up. They'll be here, you're all right." He completed his order, but I think his appetite was pretty much shot to pieces by then. "Can he not fucking see you?" he whispered. Susan shook her head. "How long you been able to do this?"

  "Took a while, but it's quite easy now," Elaine told him.

  "Why are you recorded as the publisher of my songs?" said Susan as the waiter reappeared with a glass of beer.

  Micky waited for him to go. "It's normal, that's the normal thing. . . ."

  "No it isn't. I'm the songwriter," said Susan, "but I'm getting nothing because my name's not on any publishing deal. You haven't written anything. Look, it's like this Micky. We want what you owe us. Nothing more. We know some of it is due to you, but we should have more than forty eight thousand pounds each out of all this."

  We eventually persuaded Micky to set up another account for us and pay money into it. The account was with a German bank and he wasn't a signatory to it. Money was transferred and then a new publishing deal, or rather the first publishing deal was set up that gave Susan one hundred per cent of royalties. Cut Micky right out of it.

  -

  The story was familiar. It still went on, but today it was even more voracious. A young band with a sharp manager and little understanding of what's happening outside the studio, sealed away from the offices where the contracts are signed and the money is divvied out amongst the important players, the ones who matter. Except the band also matters, but their lofty ideals and devotion to the craft locks them out of the nitty gritty and shit of the contractual labyrinth. Susan was idealistic, she would have been easy to trick back then, but Micky Redwall wouldn't have known how quickly she could learn. And she soon caught up with him.

  "8000 revs," said Rene.

  "I done it again. Lovely Hercules," said Dee.

  "How many?" said Elaine.

  "8600. Suck that, four stringer."

  They all forfeited their cards and moved on.

  "We went back to his house a few days later, towards the end of April," Rene continued, "and he was waiting for us with another deal. He quits as our manager, but keeps all mechanical rights. In effect the music is ours, but we can't make money from music sales. He has the rights to the recordings."

  -

  "So you can fuck off back to Rotterdam, or Germany or wherever your fucking tombstones are located and you can start all over again and see how far you get."

  "And that's your last offer," said Susan. I could see Dee was starting to get a bit twitchy. She hadn't fed for a couple of days and Micky was a big guy. I remember thinking there's a lot of blood inside you, man, and she can drain you dry when she's hungry.

  "You've got your money, you've got your publishing deal. What do you want now, blood?" He thought he was being funny.

  "Blood?" Susan considered the offer. "Why don't we give you a minute's start and let's see how far you get?"

  Micky was uncertain what to do. This wasn't a contractual offer. There would be no more signatures. Dee was the first to go for him. Maybe Susan should have given some kind of signal, but it was too late, Dee was hanging off him. He was throwing his arms around trying to dislodge her, but she was so far gone it was only a matter of time. The rest of us followed them out of the house. He was screaming, pirouetting, writhing like he was on fire. Dee was like an angry pit bull and you could hear the flesh tearing off him. Then, as if a space had opened up Elaine joined her at the table. There were dogs outside, chained up, and they were going demented.

  "You must have known who Lenny Harper was?" Susan asked the question, but I think it was probably rhetorical. She was always suspicious that Micky let the attack happen, or at least knew it was possible. She stepped towards him. "You even tipped people off, you cunt." He was on the ground by now, still alive, but he wasn't struggling anymore. Dee and Elaine were ravenous, but they eventually sat back as Susan stood over the body. She slammed her fist into his chest and ripped his heart out. She wanted to see for herself if he had one.

  On the way out we unchained the dogs and they had a late night snack of their own.

  -

  Wallet wondered where that entry was in Susan's diary and how she remembered it. "So that was late April, 1977. Everyone thought he was killed by his own dogs."

  "I think he was a little bit anaemic," said Elaine. "Do you remember he tasted a little bit. . . ."

  "Peppery," said Dee. "Oh, cobblers to it. One cylinder."

  "One!" said Rene. "One for me too. Harley Davidson SS 250. One c
ylinder."

  "Peppery?" Elaine grimaced. "Red peppers maybe. Four. One for each string, babydoll."

  "Wallet?" Dee shouted.

  "Just the two," he said.

  "I was beginning to wonder," said Dee as Elaine snatched the losing cards off everyone.

  "You know what we need now," said Wallet taking out his phone. The others checked their cards and waited. Wallet offered his phone to the night so that everyone could hear, enjoy and appreciate Eye Level, the theme tune to Van der Valk. "Now we're in fucking Holland!"

  -

  To the west, Susan and Marco looked across Bergweg at a bakery next door to a small restaurant. The two businesses shared a name: Seger. The bakery was closed, but the restaurant was still open to late night stragglers so hand in hand, they ran across the road, dodging the slow moving traffic. Marco was out of breath by the time they entered the restaurant. They found a table towards the back, out of sight of most people, and waited for service.

  "I like this table," said Susan. "It's cosy."

  "Cosy," said Marco surprised. "A word I can't associate with vampires."

  "Yeah, yeah. I've told you before, we get a bad press. We're not all monsters." Susan's dark eyes enlarged with menace and followed up with a beaming smile.

  "When you smile like that, oof, your teeth. I still think they're incredible." Marco slipped his overcoat off.

  Susan ran the tip of her tongue over a sharp canine. "They're pretty lethal you know. Not something to joke about."

  "No, I know. But they still look incredible. You never tell me what your dentist thinks?"

  "So you're happy everything's in place? Did Almer come through with his investment?"

  "Yeah. He's happy with fifteen per cent return, but we'll top that up if everything goes okay."

  Susan took her phone out and showed Marco a new trick. "It's an app Rob found for a tablet. It flips the webcam video so it's like a mirror." She held it in Marco's face and he checked the closeness of his shave, the grey highlights in his hair.

  "He has his uses."

  "Yeah." Susan didn't sound too sure. "Tom Scavinio took some convincing to take over from Rob, but it means we have an expert managing us and we can leave Rob to deal with publicity and one or two other things."

  "What things?"

  Susan had other thoughts outside of the plan. "If he's good at one thing it's turning things up. Fuck, if he found us he can find anything. Some guy is writing a lot of crap about us and we're not sure what he's up to, whether there's anything more to it than just eccentricity."

  "Susan, there are millions of crazies on the internet, don't go chasing them all."

  "I know, I know."

  A waitress arrived to take orders and Susan was faced with the usual dilemma when she came here with Marco. Order food, pretend to eat it, transfer most of it to Marco's plate, watch him fatten. . . .

  "Just the avocado salad," he said.

  "I'll have a barbecue chicken," said Susan, keeping her head down as she spoke. "Not too big a portion." She ordered water, Marco had his usual double beer.

  "You saw the beers Almer named after you all?"

  Susan laughed. "I don't think his customers get the joke. I didn't know what pale ale was until he showed us. The Drummer's Mild - which he isn't - Dee's Golden Sweet, which is a joke if ever there was one because she's neither. English sense of humour."

  "Daley Toxin was a good name for his stout."

  "She doesn't see the funny side of that."

  "Bekker's Bitter?" Marco raised an eyebrow.

  "Which I'm not. Not any more." Susan sipped her water. "Anyway, if the Americans like it they buy it so we won't say no to that income stream."

  "And what would you call a beer named after Rob?" Marco was grinning.

  "God, I don't know. Wayward Swing."

  When the food arrived it tasted alien. As usual. Susan picked and pecked at it, nibbled a bit off her fork, took ages to chew a mouthful. It was all an act, but she was here to experience normal life. She envied the other diners who didn't think twice about being bored by an evening of small talk and making the effort to look interested in nothing. Sometimes mundanity had its attractions. Mundanity was seriously underrated.

  "How is it?" said Marco grinning.

  "Delicious," Susan lied.

  "The odd tour venues you asked about," said Marco, "they're short notice cancellations, so we took the slots we could get."

  "That's fine. Ahoy and the UK were important. Geneva and Berlin are pretty good. Budapest. . . ." she giggled. "We'll make the most of it. They'll no doubt wonder why we dropped on them, so we'll answer that. It's a pity the Ahoy wasn't available on the tenth."

  Marco agreed. "Forty eight years to the day. Fancy that. Pity you weren't coming back in 2017. Make it a round fifty."

  "I wonder if he's looking down on us," said Susan. "Do you think Jimi's up there with all the others?"

  Marco paused a moment, teasing a piece of avocado. "What if he's like you? What if they're all like you?"

  Being ridiculous now, Marco. "You use Rob in the promotion of all this?"

  "Yeah. We can brief him and Tom. You sure he's in the right frame of mind."

  Susan took a moment to swallow. "Tom? Yeah. His sons have told him to get out of New York. Change of scenery. Take his mind off everything. He told me that he didn't grieve when she died. She died so long ago, he'd already gone through it. Now he wants to think of something else."

  "Distraction guaranteed," said Marco. "And you're sure about the vinyl only release?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "No, I personally think it's genius, but I wanted to hear your reasoning."

  "Throws everything up in the air. No trends, no bandwagons, no middlemen taking their cut for doing fuck all. I mean think about it. You take five minutes to upload a digital file to your server then charge the artist a commission for every download. Fuck off. And they're not getting the benefit of all the publicity that we generate. We generated that, Marco. They have no physical presence, pay no fucking taxes, it's easy money for them."

  Marco threw up his hands in surrender. "Point made."

  "And if we do a deal with a company who make record players. . . ." she winked and took another mouthful of chicken. Then choked on it.

  Marco tried not to laugh, but this happened every time. Susan talks, ends up on a subject that gets her going, forgets what she is and literally bites off more than she can chew. "You had enough now?"

  "I think I've reached my limit."

  "So what was it about Rob that persuaded you to change?" Marco was asking a lot of questions about Wallet. "What magic touch did he have?"

  "He came along with his head full of research and having your own past put in front of you like that, seeing the names of all those people we knew and who aren't here any more like Wim, I think we felt there was unfinished business. We wanted to give it another go and, fuck it, try get it right. Not everyone is given that opportunity."

  Marco had ordered a glass of red wine for himself. It looked tempting. "I saw the headlines over the Sony deal." Marco looked at Susan through the glass as he swirled it around. "Were you tempted to take the deal with them?"

  Susan grinned. "You know me too well. We got our manager. Now that everything's coming together I can't wait to see this stage?" Marco was holding back on the details. No amount of pressure made him crack, but then Susan wasn't really trying. She knew he had the vision in his head. He was one of the few people who had seen it in the flesh, stored in a warehouse down at Europort. The sleeping monster.

  Outside on Bergweg, wide and leafy and waiting to be strolled, Susan and Marco headed back to Oosterwijk. She tried not to think how they looked together. Marco, a well groomed, smartly dressed, sixty year old with no signs of fat or thinning hair, out with a twenty something, black haired thing of exotic beauty in her high heels and tailored jacket. She was businesslike, she could speak Marco's boardroom language when she wanted to and she knew the first a
ppearance on Madison Avenue, when the band walked through the door of the meeting room, had thrown the Sony executives and directors and managers. Expecting four washed out, messed up, feral old timers, they got what? Youngsters. Beautiful youngsters. More than they could handle. It had felt good. It had felt . . . yeah, Rob nailed it: liberating.

  "What did you learn from them?" Marco asked.

  "How the opposition thinks. Their reliance on borrowed names and associating with someone else's success. The need to tie in one product with another. How to sell an artist to a totally unrelated outside agency. What social media does well and what it does badly. How live venues are controlled by a few operators. How the message is more important than the product and what fans actually experience and expect."

  "And your conclusions from all that?"

  Susan smiled and bowed her head. "Nothing's changed in thirty five years. And let's beat them at their own game."

  "You ready for that?"

  "I'm ready for anything. Are you? You know everytime I meet you it makes me think about who's had the better life." Susan refused to let go of Marco's hand and swung it lightly as he answered.

  He took a deep breath. "Lot of hard work, which was fine so long as there was an outcome. Lot of worry when a new product is launched. The increasing hassle and headache around patents and copyrights, licensing and litigation. Defending your back all the time from competitors. Personal issues and people who want to take everything off you. And then you sell out."

  Susan nodded. "There I was thinking you quit the music business."

  "And then you die." Marco laughed. He cupped Susan's face in his hand. "Losing people is just as hard for me as it is for you."

  "Yeah I know. Strange world we live in," Susan said. She could feel Marco's subtle pull towards him and awarded herself the passionate kiss that followed.

  -

  "So where does Marco come into all this?" Wallet checked his watch. The other two were late. After Elaine won the Top Trumps they decided to return to the graves and the agreed meeting point around one in particular. A nondescript plot with a square granite headstone and the understated detail: Wim Seger 1950-2002.

  "Money," said Dee.

  "He looks rich."

  "Rich, successful, bright. Good businessman."

  In contrast, Wim Segers was none of those things. "Fifty two," said Wallet.

  "Too young for anyone," said Rene.

  "So, you helped them in some way when you got the money off Micky?"

  Rene and Elaine had propped themselves against two sides of a large cross, waiting quietly; one consoling himself in defeat, the other secretly revelling an unexpected success. Dee was close to Wallet next to Wim's grave. "It took a while, but we helped Wim set up a bakery and Marco went into telecommunications."

  "Bread and phones?"

  "Bread and phones. Wim didn't really go back to being a musician. He got a job working in a bakery then decided he wanted to work for himself. I think it was about 1979 or 1980 when we gave him something to start his own place. Then just after expanding to open a restaurant he died. Had a heart attack. Susan and Marco have gone to his restaurant tonight."

  "Funny isn't it, if they were like you they wouldn't have to worry about building something up and then having it kill them."

  "I don't think the pressure killed him," said Dee, "he drank like a bastard. Triple beer killed him, not work."

  "And what's Marco's story?"

  "He carried on with music, but being a bass player it's not something you can busk with in a shopping street. Not without annoying the fuck out of everyone. He got a job as an apprentice I think, in engineering. He worked for a phone company here in Rotterdam, but when he heard about mobile phones being the next big thing he got ideas. He bought the first one he came across and used it like a display model, meeting business people when he was out fixing their old crummy systems, took orders, started importing a few and selling them on. He was in right at the start and built up a sort of early mobile phone company. With our money to get him going."

  "So he must be worth a bit now?"

  "Oh yeah. He's worth more than we are. He sold out a few years ago and was properly wealthy. He's astute too. He got married, had kids, but he set up a fund; a separate company, offshore I think, nobody knew what it was for. Then when he divorced and had to pay alimony and maintenance the fund covered it all."

  "And his wife didn't get half of it in a divorce settlement?"

  "No," said Dee. "Technically it wasn't his, so she couldn't claim it, but it was set up exactly for that purpose, like insurance, so it wasn't seen as misappropriation. He's a clever bastard. Him and Susan. They're like two peas in a pod, you know."

  "And he's retired?"

  Dee's impish face looked up at Wallet. "You're very interested in him, Rob. Are you absolutely sure you're not jealous? You know a jealous vampire is a dangerous thing." Her weight pushed against Wallet every time she turned to him. Occasionally she'd tap his foot with the outside of her boot to emphasise the point she was making. "I hope you're not becoming the enemy within."

  Wallet reassured her with a withering expression. "I can't get to the other side of a busy road without looking both ways, how am I supposed to take on the four of you? In fact, I can't even beat you at Top Trumps either. How did it come to this?"

  "Lenny Harper took us on. The right time, the right place, a few sharpened bits of wood and goodnight sweetheart. You're not that much thicker than Lenny Harper."

  "Thanks."

  Dee became alert to two figures approaching. "Heads up," she said. "Come on stop fucking about, this isn't the place."

  Susan and Marco rejoined the assembly. "We're all set," she announced. "Money, dates, album, stage."

  "Stage?" asked Wallet.

  "Can't have a tour without a stage, Rob," Susan said. She was still gripping Marco's hand.

  "When do we get to see it?"

  Dee led him back to the car. The others followed. "You are so pushy. Pushy pushy pushy Wallet. Good things come to those who wait."

  Wallet breathed out and put his arm round Dee's neck. "Haven't travelled on First Great Western, have you?"

  The Independent

  Toten Herzen Sign New Deal

  Unknown label puts up fifteen million Euros

  The name Toten Herzen is no longer a dark memory from the decade that brought us the three day week, oil crisis, power cuts and mainland IRA atrocities. Following several months of convoluted negotiations with Sony that eventually fell through after a series of murders, the four piece rock band with over six million record sales have signed a deal with Alien Noise Corporation.

  Who? A press release issued to news agencies at midnight last night gave no clues or indications as to the identity of the label. The most likely explanation is that the band itself has formed its own company to maximise lucrative financial opportunities and keep all profits in house. Alessandra Marni of the media investment company All Night Ventures thinks the fifteen million Euro figure is on the low side. "When you hear a label announce how much a deal is worth that's sometimes the figure that will be earned by the band, it doesn't include the gross amount that will be shared by label, publishers, distributors and any other parties to the deal."

  What sets the ANC deal apart is the announcement that Toten Herzen will not be following the usual channels or music business practices. 'Toten Herzen have learned from past and more recent experience that if you want something done, do it yourself.' One wonders if the spate of murders in Europe and America are included in that sentence!

  The exposure to Sony was not without its benefits to Toten Herzen. New York based manager Tom Scavinio will relocate to Europe following an offer to manage the band. Scavinio, whose wife died of cancer last month, responded to the call from Toten Herzen. "It's a fresh start, an opportunity to move on, and I'm looking forward to working with a band who are much misunderstood by the media and public alike."

  In spite of all the activity s
ince the first stirrings of the band in March of this year, they still haven't been positively identified in public and questions are still being asked about how they will look and perform after thirty five years. Alien Noise Corporation hinted the band may start to make public appearances now that a deal has been secured.

  Daily Mirror

  Vampires Offered Lifeline By Aliens

  Fifteen million Euros to maintain Toten Herzen's blood filled comeback

  A mysterious company has offered to pay for shock rock band Toten Herzen's comeback. After the four rockers were given the boot by Sony earlier this year a shadowy group of benefactors using the name Alien Noise Corporation has stepped in to finance the geriatric comeback. The press statement announcing the deal was, fittingly, released at midnight last night.

  A music industry insider suggested the money may be from the middle east, possibly a consortium looking to explore the financial possibilities of sponsoring a music artist. Whilst there is little money to made from music sales, other opportunities can be lucrative if the artist is noteworthy and rarely out of the public eye.

  Toten Herzen qualify on both those counts. Their exploits have made headlines the world over, and whilst the band's public appearances may be rarer than those of aliens, the gory results of their actions are well documented. Award winning songwriters Torque Rez and Mike Flambor, who were due to work with Toten Herzen in New York, were found tortured and murdered in their recording studio hours after meeting the band.

  Reaction to the news was mixed. Lyle Kraznor of Metal Gods magazine described the news as fantastic. "Since their comeback was announced we've been waiting for details. Now we're a step closer to that and we get to see what they look like." Charlie Coombs of New Rock described the deal as a 'poisoned chalice.' "No wonder aliens are the only ones prepared to deal with them. No human would go there." A spokeswoman for Simon Cowell's management company Syco denied any involvement in the deal. "We don't do heavy rock bands."

  Timeline of Toten Herzen's atrocities:

  1973 - Toten Herzen formed in Ipswich by local scrap metal dealer Micky Redwall

  1974 - fans on their way to a concert are stopped by police and found with a headless horse in a horsebox.

  March 1977 - the four band members are found murdered by a mad fan in Highgate Cemetery. The murders turn out to be a hoax.

  April 1977 - manager Micky Redwall is killed by his own dogs, but rumours of his murder are not denied by the band

  March 2013 - Lenny Harper, the fan accused of killing the band, is beheaded in Germany

  April 2013 - music critic Mike Gannon is murdered at his home in London. The band's publicist Rob Wallet is arrested for his murder. Four music critics are murdered in one night. Rob Wallet is released by police

  June 2013 - Torque Rez and Mike Flambor, award winning songwriters, are murdered in New York. Anthony Rawls, aged fifteen, is murdered in Boston. Linda Macvie, a marketing strategist with Sony, is accused of the murder of pilot Leo Travner

  Terence Pearl: Blog post

  The alien connection, numerology and the cult of mass suicides

  Extract from my forthcoming book 'In League with Nosferatu: the Record Industry's Secret Vampire Conspiracy' by Terence Pearl

  It was only a matter of time before Toten Herzen completed their progress from rock band veneer to suicide cult reality. They have now announced a new partnership with the aptly titled Alien Noise Corporation. As is the usual practice with this musical group the full details have not yet been disclosed, but closer scrutiny of what information there is results in some surprising conclusions and clues to the group's true intentions.

  The key to the puzzle, like so many secret societies before them, is in the numbers. The modern music industry is more about numbers than music and Toten Herzen are no exception. But where other music groups and recording labels look to numerology to fatten their bank accounts and use accounting magic tricks to avoid paying taxes, this group uses numerology for purposes of encrypted messages and mind control.

  The most significant date to turn to is the ritual murder of the band in 1977. Or March 21st 1977. March 21st is critical here because it is the day after March 20th, the Spring Equinox. In some pagan circles this celestial event is known as Oestre or Ostara (in the Christian Calendar Easter). Whichever belief system you choose, they all share the same theme of rebirth. Choosing to die on the day after the celebration of rebirth is Toten Herzen's way of asserting their statement of a new beginning: the first day of life is their first day of death. And thus the cycle begins.

  May 1st is another important date and the most terrifying in cultural and historic terms. Known variously as Beltane or Mayday it's most well known manifestation is Walpurgisnacht. A range of celebrations take place to mark the point halfway between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice and to the musical group their celebrations were of ritual sacrifice and blood letting. In the weeks leading up to Walpurgisnacht, five people were murdered in mid-April of this year and at the end of April in 1977 when the group's manager Michael Redwall was killed in an animalistic sacrifice. Then, the group adopted the spirits of wolves to combine both the qualities of the vampire and those of the werewolf. In Germany and parts of Eastern Europe, the stronghold of the vampire myth, Walpurgisnacht is seen as a time to execute witches by burning. (Interestingly, two members of Toten Herzen are Dutch and Walpurgisnacht is not celebrated in the Netherlands because Queen's Day was made a public holiday instead to celebrate Queen Beatrix's birthday. However, Beatrix was born on January 31st 1938, and it is interesting to consider the possibility that a greater conspiracy is at work to mask the true celebrations hidden from and ignored by the general public.)

  The Summer Solstice was celebrated with more sacrifices in America, this time involving four victims. By comparing the dates of Toten Herzen's activities with those of other suicide cults an interesting parallel emerges: