Backstabbers - Chapter 20
Wander in the Fear of a Never Ending Lie
Backstabbers is my first novel, a 1979-based comedy murder-mystery about aspirations for fame and dreams unfulfilled.
Sunday morning. The rehearsal started early onstage. A touring musical revue had booked the stage for the evening and time was precious. Wednesday’s curtain-up loomed and the ticking clock conveniently justified the lack of heartfelt mourning over Max’s death.
‘Max was found minus his head. A pickaxe was found at the scene inscribed with the word Bashful,’ said Little J.
Lena was sceptical at Little J’s morose brooding. ‘Who said that?’
‘The mouse finally roared,’ said Big J, joining his pal in the dramatic grandstanding. ‘Melody finally had enough, did she?’
‘Melody didn’t kill Max,’ said Kevin, garnering everyone’s attention. ‘She was at Nigel’s house. All night.’ This wasn’t what Gary wanted to hear. ‘Ah, what!? What’s he got that I haven’t?’
‘Go Nige…’ smirked Lena.
‘That’s the real mystery,’ said Big J. ‘How does a bloke like Nigel Chavis cop off with a bird-like Melody Monteith? There’s no justice in this world.’
‘Ttt. Imagine finding a dead body,’ said Emily. ‘Coppers have a rotten job sometimes.’
‘They see it all the time. Second nature to them. I almost joined the force once,’ said Big J.
Gary slapped Big J’s back. ‘They need sympathetic characters like you.’
‘Well, that’s it. Show over. I doubt Melody will be back,’ said Little J. Emily stood up, attempting to rouse the gloomy cast. ‘The show must go on! T.S.M.G.O.!’ Her ‘let’s do the show right here’ enthusiasm found no takers. Big J eyeballed Kevin. ‘Kev, what dress size are you?’
Celia brought an end to the macabre speculation. ‘Enough! There is no murderer. Merely accidents. Lena. You are now playing the lead role. Congratulations.’
Arms folded, Stu ranted as Alan, Hairy Jim and Graham loaded battered flight cases from the back door of Sound & Vision into a thrashed-out dirty white van. ‘Accidents? What, did Max turn round too fast and his head spun off?’
‘Don’t s’pose there’s any chance of you lending a bleedin’ ‘and, is there? Bloody Yoffy lifts more fingers than you,’ said Graham. Stu grabbed a random cable from the top of a flight case, handing it to Alan. ‘Accidents are what happen when you don’t get to the potty in time.’
Alan and Hairy Jim clambered into the scant remaining space in the back of the van. Graham slammed the back doors, encroaching on Stu’s personal space. ‘Word of warning: Whining doesn’t win you any fans.’ Graham’s point and finger of caution lingered as he carelessly sped away, car horns echoing as Graham cut them up.
Sat up on his bed, Roxy Music’s Angel Eyes playing on his portable radio, Stu scrawled into his diary. The curtain gently shifted in the night air, as Stu paused for thought, chewing the end of his pen. The increasing thud of footsteps on the staircase alerted him. Stu stashed his diary under his pillow before Jeffrey burst through his bedroom door, repeatedly shoving the mattress with an aggressive foot. ‘Stuart! Telephone!’ Stu slid off his bed, waiting for Jeffrey to leave first. ‘And tell your mate on the phone not to call me a little bastard or he can say it to my face…’
Stu instantly knew who the caller was.