Romeo's Tune (1990) by Mark Timlin Read Free Book Online Page A

in my hand and slapped it on to the back of my hand. I took a peek.
    ‘Tails,’ I said, and showed him.
    He smiled. ‘Take it then,’ he said.
    I took another old pound note from the drawer.
    ‘What about the rest?’ he asked.
    ‘What rest?’ I asked, slightly mystified.
    ‘What you’ve got there,’ he said. ‘I tossed you double or quits for the bill and I lost.’
    I couldn’t believe it. The guy was serious too.
    ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I tossed you for half a quid.’
    ‘Chicken,’ he said, and laughed again.
    I gave McBain a receipt for the cash. He wasn’t in the least bit interested. He took the sheet of paper, screwed it up and tossed it in the general direction of the floor.
    ‘Come back through,’ he said.
    I followed him back to the studio where Algy was fiddling about with some electrical gear. He looked up as we entered.
    ‘He’s not too bad,’ said McBain, gesturing with his head in my direction. ‘Shall we give him a tune?’
    Algy nodded.
    ‘Would you like that?’ McBain asked me, almost shyly.
    ‘Fine,’ I said, then I saw something in his eyes, behind the stoned look, something like hurt or fear. ‘I’d really appreciate it,’ I added.
    McBain smiled a long lazy smile. ‘Algy, get me a razor that works.’
    Algy raised his eyebrows. ‘A razor,’ he repeated. ‘You ought to get out more, and learn some new slang. You sound like Mott The fucking Hoople.’
    McBain’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘Just go, fatty,’ he shouted. Algy walked slowly through the door without saying anything, and reappeared a moment later carrying a small, strangely shaped guitar. The body of the instrument was only an inch or so wider than the elongated neck and was painted blood–red.
    ‘I’ve just got this on appro, McBain,’ said Algy. ‘Take care of it, will you.’
    ‘Of course,’ said McBain slyly, ‘I’ve just got to get ready.’ He left the room by the door we had recently entered.
    ‘He’s fucking mental,’ said Algy.
    ‘Why do you stay then?’ I asked.
    ‘Money,’ said Algy bluntly. ‘Do you know how much he earned after tax in the last financial year?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘Nearly half a million,’ Algy continued. ‘And pounds sterling, not dollars. Besides, I quite like the silly cunt. And it’s an easy job. It’s nice here in the summer when it’s warm.’
    ‘Why don’t you get some heat?’ I asked.
    ‘He won’t have any noise in the house apart from his own, no workmen, nothing. We need a new roof, but he won’t have it. I just run around with buckets when it rains.’
    ‘What about all that?’ I pointed at the RSJ. ‘Someone must have worked on that.’
    ‘He had it done before my time,’ said Algy, ‘when he was out on tour. He won’t go out at all now, not even to the shops. I get everything he needs.’
    ‘What’s he doing now?’ I asked.
    ‘Don’t ask me. Getting wired I expect.’ Even as Algy spoke, McBain came back into the room. He was now wearing a long black coat hanging open over his shirt and pants. He looked like a character from a spaghetti western and I remembered the guns in his bedroom. He’d also applied some eye make-up I noticed, and now his dark eyes stood out in his face like the devil’s.
    ‘Right Algernon,’ said McBain. ‘Lights.’ The big man went and sat behind the control board on one of the leather chairs and hit a switch. The console lit up like the flight-deck of Concorde. His hands flew across the switches. The lights around the edge of the room dimmed and left only a few spotlights illuminating the centre of the room.
    McBain strode across the centre of the floor, turning switches on the amps and tiny red and orange lights ignited. A hum of power began to fill the room and I could smell the odour of valves warming up from the older equipment.
    McBain touched a button on the upright organ and the horns on the speakers began to rotate. He went over and stood by a small box covered in pedals and tripped