by Fox J Wilde
“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” the German soldier yelled in good English, “We speak English too, you know!”
“Well...then, knock, knock!”
“What are you knocking on? Are you calling me a name?!” the German soldier responded, obviously upset at whatever insult the American was levying. The response from the American was frustrated laughter and a string of poorly-formed German cuss-words that he had likely just learned.
“Knock, knock?” Lena thought to herself, “What the hell does that mean?” It must have been some sort of military thing.
When it was the tour van’s turn to be yelled at, Victor held up passports to a particularly bored looking guard and was quickly waved through. This was the entire extent of their attentions. The massive steel swingarm blocking their forward movement was raised, and they were allowed to pass through. As the van began moving forward, Lena could swear she heard more soldiers shouting at each other, in voices that would otherwise have sounded positively murderous.
“Humpty dumpty sat on a wall, you German asshole!”
“Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, you Capitalist moron!” This exchange continued on in voices that sounded like the scene from an impromptu battlefield execution. Yet as the van pulled out of hearing range, Lena was certain she heard the other guards snickering.
“How is ‘German’ an insult?” she pondered. She very well understood why ‘Capitalist’ was, of course, but ‘German’? It must have been an American thing.
It always rained this time of year. Despite the bland regularity of the gray and grayer, and the fact that the weather was the same on either side of the god-damned Wall, in the GDR the bleak felt more like an omen than anything else. It was as if Mother Nature herself knew that no one particularly wanted to be back on that side of the Wall and decided to enhance the experience, adding to the already gloomy air that permeated the van.
“Yay. We’re back,” Vivika said in a tone even blander than the weather.
“Yup,” Victor said.
Lena had nothing to add herself.
“So...” Vivika began again, after some time, “uh, what now?”
The resulting silence indicated that Vivika was likely directing the question to Lena. This was unfortunate, as now Lena had to offer something in return which she very much didn’t want to do. “How the hell should I know?” she gruffed in a tone suggesting that very little could be expected of her.
“I wasn’t asking you; I was asking our fearless manager here.”
“How the hell should I know?!” he snapped.
“Well, you’re our road manager. You’re supposed to know these things.”
“Look,” he answered tersely, “it wasn’t my fault your band-mates all decided to run off. This stuff happens sometimes, for whatever reason. Maybe you will get lucky. Maybe both of them will get arrested and sent back here. Then you can be a band again.”
“But we currently aren’t a band,” Vivika said accusingly, “and that’s your fault.”
“How is it my fault?! It’s not my job to make sure you all don’t run off and do something stupid.”
“Yes,” Vivika crossed her arms. “Yes, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what your job is. I think that’s your only job—to corral us. So, having failed that job, what are you going to do for us now?”
“What the hell do you want me to do, Vivika?! I can’t magically make your old band-mates re-appear. I can’t magically find you new band-mates. I can’t play guitar, and even if I could, I’m not so sure I want to go through all that nonsense again. So...I’m sorry, but...”
“What nonsense did you go through? What did you do that entire time? You didn’t help with one single aspect. To hear Lena tell it, you actually made it harder for us.”
“Me?” Lena said, perking up at her mention. “No...guys, I’m staying out of this.”
“No, you should get involved,” Vivika said angrily. “This is as much your project as mine and we both got thrown to the wolves by this asshole. So now you need to help me convince him to fix this.”
“I...I...” Lena stuttered. She looked at the two of them. Victor was half trying to focus on driving, and half hiding the rash of red spreading across his face and neck. Vivika, however, was red-faced for an entirely different reason that Lena couldn’t figure out. The girl was becoming hysterical with anger, perhaps unduly so.
“Look, you guys...” Lena attempted. “I’m not gonna point fingers. We all probably had our part in what happened...”
“Oh, that’s how this is gonna be?” Vivika shouted, “Placating us? Placating him? I suppose that’s easy for you. You were the only person who won in all of this! While I was dealing with the venue, watching all of our gear, and trying to figure out what to do, and while Victor was trying to hide from any real responsibility like a chicken-shit, you were sleeping with Matt.”
Yeah. Lena had admitted to that. Now she was reaping the benefits of her indiscretion.
“Well, that’s...” Lena stammered.
“For four entire hours.”
“I mean...well...”
“Who the hell screws for four hours on a tour bus?!?”
“Some people are just gifted,” Lena said, trying to hide a smile.
“There’s no way he’s that gifted.”
“He’s pretty gifted.”
“What, does he have a nine-inch...”
“Ladies!” Victor shouted, with the flash of red growing brighter by the second.
Of course, Lena couldn’t have told them the truth of what had transpired on that tour bus. So, she had worked hard to give them a separate impression. A little bit of disheveled hair, mussed makeup, a mis-placed shoulder-strap and the ‘walk-of-shame’ had revealed to the both of them everything they needed to know, true or not. Vivika had attempted a begrudging-sort of congratulations, although she had seemed upset about it. She had remained upset for the duration of the trip, which Lena had chalked up to simple jealousy.
Victor, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care in the least. Despite how un-Patrick-like he appeared to be in his indecisive Victor-ness, he did seem to have a nearly imperceptible spring in his step.
“Whatever,” she thought. “She’s just jealous.” Of course, if Vivika could even conceive of what had really transpired on the tour bus, she might very well be even more jealous. Goodness, how adventure seemed to pile itself into Lena’s life. On top of being the lead-singer of a (now defunct) punk band, she was also the ultimate super-spy-slash-double-agent for two opposing clandestine organizations, and seemed to be the invisible crux of an entire underground wave, “My life is like a movie!” she congratulated herself.
It was strange, she realized. After the Interhostel she was practically ready to bolt into West Germany the very first chance she had, wanting nothing to do with this realm whatsoever. But now, having received a new sales-pitch, she almost relished the opportunity to go back to the hotel. The sheer danger of it all...the convoluted messiness...the complication...no one else’s life could possibly compare. And Vivika, well, she just wouldn’t understand—especially if she knew what Lena’s true mission was.
She had two jobs. The first, simply put, was to start dating Matt York. Yes, that’s right. She was supposed to officially start dating the preeminent Punker (also a secret agent) himself.
According to Mr. Collins, the whole ‘Dead Weights’-thing was nothing more than a covert operation which was maddeningly simple. The GDR wanted one singular thing above all other attainable goals: gain international recognition as its own sovereign entity. So far, it had made some headway, in that it was formally recognized by the UN’s Defense Council. But that was largely because the Soviets were on the damn council and controlled the Soviet Union’s perverse version of NATO...of which the GDR belonged to.
Recognition by the Soviets wasn’t enough, thou
gh. The GDR needed recognition by America and NATO. Once that happened, the GDR was free to escape the mad clutches of the Soviet dogs and its damn Warsaw Pact, and was one step closer to never having to kowtow to the Americans again.
With that in mind, anything—anything—that legitimized the GDR to the international community would receive top priority. Thus, Mr. Collins had concocted a particularly brilliant scheme: use The Dead Weights’ unapologetic pro-GDR punk music to put a bug in the Stasi’s ear. They had quickly found a point-man in Matt York (an asset on loan from British intelligence), who, much like Lena, had a seriously tweaked view of what counted as ‘fun’. All that was necessary was to crank out a few mindless tunes (written by some bored analyst, of course) and find a few disposable patsies as band-mates. Then, they need only broadcast it far and wide—via Armed Forces Radio and the many other pirate radio stations—to the GDR’s various ‘rooftop radios’ like the one Lena had.
Unlike the punks in Leipzig, Mr. Collins not only knew that the Stasi closely monitored the pirate radio stations, but counted on it. He knew that the Stasi would like the favorable opinion that citizens of the GDR would give to the anti-capitalist Dead Weights and their hatred of American interference.
Now Mr. Collins only needed to put a few more strategic bricks in the operational wall, and his organization would be well set. Firstly, to finagle Matt (and his manager, of course) a guided tour of the GDR; second, to establish a plausible reason Matt would actually want to stay in the GDR; and third, perhaps...just perhaps...he could be swayed by the same methods that ensnared Dean Reed just a few years before: a burgeoning (and scandalously perfect) relationship between King Punk himself and the up-and-coming counterculture goddess Madeline Dangerbunny. Of course, what happened after that was not something Lena was privy to just yet.
Hooking up with Matt York was the easy part. The second was far more difficult for many different reasons. First, because it required her to snoop around ‘her people’ in the HVA—you know, ask some potentially telling questions of people who were good at detecting ‘potentially telling questions’; second, because she would likely have to ask these questions of Grandfather, whom she hadn’t seen in such a long time; and third, because they were questions pertaining to Hans.
Apparently, Hans had never been a spitzel, as Lena had assumed. Well, not as she knew it anyway. Hans had been working for Mr. Collins and his company for a number of months. To his company, though, that wasn’t the important part; the important part was that Hans was in a small network of hard-cultivated assets that had been working in Eastern Germany for several years now. The fact that Hans had been caught could potentially lead to the destruction of that network, as well as the people within it. Mr. Collins had said that it was very likely that Hans had already talked. Yet since the network still existed, one of two things was true: either Hans had kept his tongue, or the Soviet’s and HVA’s concurrent counter-intelligence investigations were still ongoing.
According to Mr. Collins, the only thing working in their favor was the fact that “the HVA doesn’t like the damn Soviets poking around in their business”, and their premature raid had spooked the network into a defensive holding pattern, effectively placing them on standby. This made their survival more likely, but it also made them ‘mission ineffective’. Now, the members of the network would have to be “liberated or re-prioritized,” as Mr. Collins had put it.
This all sounded utterly fantastic—really it did. The only problem was that she seemed to be the linchpin for all of this nonsense. Everyone expected poor Lena to be an expert in all things clandestine at this point. It was as if they expected her to sky-hook off of a space-ship in low orbit, destabilize a few governments, and maybe drive one of those cool Western sportscars with the heat-seeking rocket-launchers, all while understanding all of this damnable intrigue without even being told anything. Damn it, she was only one person! Besides, she had something far more pressing to deal with: getting Vivika and Victor to calm the hell down.
“...the hell is your problem?” Victor was still shouting.
“I’m not going crazy here!” Vivika shouted back, “Lena, you know what I’m talking about, right?”
“Totally,” Lena said, absent-mindedly, realizing she hadn’t been listening.
“Thank you. See, Victor, this is why this is all your fault.”
“Okay, fine,” Victor fumed. “If accepting all of the blame is what it takes to get you to shut up, then I accept it. All of it. I’m the reason everything in the world is wrong, and I’m sorry. Are we done now?”
“Oh, how typical,” Vivika seethed. “Placate the woman. Look at me, I’m just a poor little woman! Of course, I’m being out of sorts. Heaven forbid a weak little woman calls a big strong man out on how he was the one that utterly failed!”
“It’s not because you’re a woman; it’s because you’re stupid! I know plenty of women that would see the situation for what it is, instead of trying to...”
“Oh why don’t you two just get a room.” Lena cut in.
Silence reigned for a few precious and awkward seconds. Vivika looked at Victor, and he looked back at her. Both seemed at a loss for words, and there seemed to be a tension that Lena couldn’t quite understand.
“I mean, seriously,” Lena flailed her arms above her head, “you two argue like a damned married couple. Victor...” she said, turning to him, “You’re an idiot. You obviously work for the Stasi. Any punk band that goes across the wall gets one of ‘your people’ to babysit them. Instead of doing that, you took us to a strange country and left us to fend for ourselves because you were too weak to do your job. Shame on you.”
Turning to Vivika, she continued, “And you...you…” Lena realized that she didn’t have anything negative to say about her; but she was irritated so she just made a few things up, “You won’t shut up about the whole thing. We’re here. This is what’s happening now. We can’t go back there. And look, I’m sorry that I found Matt, but maybe if you weren’t so bitchy...”
“Lena, stop,” Vivika said plainly.
“No, I’m serious. You’re a wonderful friend, but you have this chip on your shoulder for some reason, and I think it’s because you’re jealous.”
“Lena...stop.”
“It’s not a big deal! Really, it isn’t! But taking out your frustrations on Victor isn’t going to help.”
Vivika suddenly began crying for no apparent reason. She just stared into Lena’s eyes with such a desperate and utterly defeated look. Lena had no idea what was going on, but she all of a sudden felt terrible about it.
“Women,” Victor sighed, “once a month, they all go fucking crazy.”
“You...” Vivika seethed tearfully at Victor, and then to Lena, “You...both of you...” She never continued her sentence. Instead, she swung open the door to the van which was still moving, and demanded, “Stop the fucking van, Victor!”
“You crazy bitch!” Victor yelled as he slammed on the brakes, “What the hell are you doing?!”
“I’ll make my own way!”
“Vivika, what’s wrong?!” Lena shouted, but to no avail. Vivika simply stepped out and walked off into the distance, not looking back even once.
“What was that all about?” Lena raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Victor shook his head, “She’s just had a hard few days. But hey, at least you and I can speak openly for a moment.”
“Okay, fine, but just so you know, I’m mad at you right now.”
“What’s another woman who’s mad at me? Between Vivika and Dragon Lady, I’m surprised I haven’t been stabbed in the kidneys by now. Between both of those psychos, I practically have to sleep at a safe house.”
“Vivika is nothing like that! She’s emotional, sure. Angry, yes. But she’s a good friend. She honestly cares about me, and I care about her.”
“Just be careful with that o
ne,” he responded after a small pause. “I like her too. Hell, if I knew her a little better, we’d probably be friends. Maybe I’ll try to bridge that gap a little bit in the future...if there’s a future to be had. But I’ve been doing this a while. I know the look of someone who has a plan. And whatever plans she has, they don’t involve either of us.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just be careful around her. She’s not psychotic or sadistic like Dragon Lady..., but she’s just as calculating. She has a secret agenda, that one, and she’ll say or do anything to get what she wants.”
When Lena entered Little John records, she found Vivika huddling on a couch in the corner of one of the small studios. Since Little John had essentially become a safe haven for the punks on the label, beds, couches and other makeshift sleeping accommodations had been placed everywhere from the studios to the sound booth. Like Jakob and Vortecx (wherever they were), Vivika slept here more than she slept anywhere else. She wasn’t sleeping now, however. She was curled up in a fetal position and balling her eyes out.
“Vivika?” Lena asked softly.
“Go away.”
“Vivika, what did I say?” Lena asked, as she walked over and sat close to Vivika. In response, Vivika shouldered her away roughly. Lena was undeterred, however. She simply sat there, trying to be as close as Vivika would allow her. She was so sad, just sitting there sobbing her poor heart out all over the couch. Lena was familiar with the emotions of musicians, and the general malaise they exuded for no particular reason. But this was something else—and whatever it was, it was something worth crying about.
“Don’t worry about the band, Vivika. We’ll figure it out.”
“Oh, fuck the stupid band!” she sniffled angrily, “I don’t care about the band!”
“Well...then what...” Lena attempted. Truth be told, she didn’t precisely know what was wrong, so she didn’t know where to start.
“Look, you remember what I said back at the show?”
