and some other hippie goons of the same hard-nut type, armed with automatic rifles. Allie Marlowe was up there too, looking very frightened. Down on the floor near the stage, surrounded by more goons, stood a small group of people Fiorinda recognised. There’s Rob Nelson, in his electric blue suit, all bloodstained. There’s DK the DJ. There’s those silly boys, Chip the black cherub, Verlaine with his ringlets; there’s Roxane Smith—
There’s Sage and there’s Ax. They’re alive.
Sirens were yelling wildly out in the Park. There must be a whole fleet of police cars and ambulances, whoever had called them: converging on the scene of the shooting, rushing to sort out the survivors from the dead. Pigsty didn’t take any notice of these noises, nor of his Think Tank colleagues. He was watching the back of the tent, waiting for something. Another vehicle pulled up. Two more hippies appeared, holding a man in evening dress between them. It was Paul Javert. They brought him up to the stage. There was blood on his face, hard to tell if he’d been shot or just beaten up.
‘What went wrong?’ he gasped, shook his head and spat out some blood. ‘I thought we were mates. I thought we understood each other.’
‘Nothing went wrong,’ said the Pig. ‘The plan changed.’
Blam! There goes Paul.
Paul’s body was dragged away. A hippie came up with a foam fire extinguisher and smothered the blood: came back with a bucket of water and splashed it casually around. It was Paul’s plot, thought Fiorinda. Paul had a plot, and maybe Allie was in it, she knew something anyway, but she wasn’t expecting what happened tonight. It was Paul’s plot but the Pig has double-crossed him, and taken over. And this is what the Think Tank was all about, this, not nothing… but she couldn’t hold it together, couldn’t think. Fear and shock took over, please God, I never provoked him, never challenged him, I didn’t laugh at him, I kept my head down, didn’t I? I knew he was dangerous—
What is he going to do with us?
Pigsty watched Paul being hauled off. He bowed his head, took a deep, fierce breath. ‘Now I want the Ax and Sage. You first, Sage.’
Tall Sage walks out from guarded corral. The skull is looking unperturbed. Neat trick.
‘Take off the mask,’ orders Pigsty.
The skull vanishes, the crippled hands are bare.
‘Will you kneel to me?’
Sage kneels, like he’s been doing it all his life. Doesn’t look up, doesn’t look down, no theatrics.
‘Will you obey me, Sage? Will you accept me as your boss?’
‘I will obey you,’ he says. ‘I will accept you as my boss.’
‘That’s good, that’s enough for now. You can go.’
Sage gets up and doesn’t know where to go. Decides to return to the corralled group. This seems to be okay.
‘Now I want the Ax.’
Pigsty is going to kill Ax. There’s no question. Looking back now you know you’ve seen the desire to kill Ax smouldering in his eyes, every time Ax came out with one of those smart one—liners, every time Ax made it clear that he is very clever and Pig is dumb as pigshit—
‘Well, Ax. Will you kneel?’
Ax kneels. Everyone waits, knowing this can’t possibly be enough. Pigsty pulls down his zip, heaves out his prick, which looks enormous, weighted by the thick steel thong through the glans. He starts to piss. Ax kneels there, piss on his hair and running down his face.
‘Will you say, ‘thank you boss’?’
‘Thank you boss.’
‘There.’ says Pigsty, zipping up. He waves for Ax to go away, Ax retreats, wiping his face on his sleeve.
Pigsty takes another of those deep, deep breaths. He stands tall, the coarse nobility of his features suddenly apparent under the bright lights. The men holding Fiorinda and Fereshteh release them, and they join the others; the hippie guards stepping back.
‘Now you’re my team. Not Paul’s. Mine. Let’s go. We got a lot to do.’
He took them to the building where the Think Tank sessions had
There’s Sage and there’s Ax. They’re alive.
Sirens were yelling wildly out in the Park. There must be a whole fleet of police cars and ambulances, whoever had called them: converging on the scene of the shooting, rushing to sort out the survivors from the dead. Pigsty didn’t take any notice of these noises, nor of his Think Tank colleagues. He was watching the back of the tent, waiting for something. Another vehicle pulled up. Two more hippies appeared, holding a man in evening dress between them. It was Paul Javert. They brought him up to the stage. There was blood on his face, hard to tell if he’d been shot or just beaten up.
‘What went wrong?’ he gasped, shook his head and spat out some blood. ‘I thought we were mates. I thought we understood each other.’
‘Nothing went wrong,’ said the Pig. ‘The plan changed.’
Blam! There goes Paul.
Paul’s body was dragged away. A hippie came up with a foam fire extinguisher and smothered the blood: came back with a bucket of water and splashed it casually around. It was Paul’s plot, thought Fiorinda. Paul had a plot, and maybe Allie was in it, she knew something anyway, but she wasn’t expecting what happened tonight. It was Paul’s plot but the Pig has double-crossed him, and taken over. And this is what the Think Tank was all about, this, not nothing… but she couldn’t hold it together, couldn’t think. Fear and shock took over, please God, I never provoked him, never challenged him, I didn’t laugh at him, I kept my head down, didn’t I? I knew he was dangerous—
What is he going to do with us?
Pigsty watched Paul being hauled off. He bowed his head, took a deep, fierce breath. ‘Now I want the Ax and Sage. You first, Sage.’
Tall Sage walks out from guarded corral. The skull is looking unperturbed. Neat trick.
‘Take off the mask,’ orders Pigsty.
The skull vanishes, the crippled hands are bare.
‘Will you kneel to me?’
Sage kneels, like he’s been doing it all his life. Doesn’t look up, doesn’t look down, no theatrics.
‘Will you obey me, Sage? Will you accept me as your boss?’
‘I will obey you,’ he says. ‘I will accept you as my boss.’
‘That’s good, that’s enough for now. You can go.’
Sage gets up and doesn’t know where to go. Decides to return to the corralled group. This seems to be okay.
‘Now I want the Ax.’
Pigsty is going to kill Ax. There’s no question. Looking back now you know you’ve seen the desire to kill Ax smouldering in his eyes, every time Ax came out with one of those smart one—liners, every time Ax made it clear that he is very clever and Pig is dumb as pigshit—
‘Well, Ax. Will you kneel?’
Ax kneels. Everyone waits, knowing this can’t possibly be enough. Pigsty pulls down his zip, heaves out his prick, which looks enormous, weighted by the thick steel thong through the glans. He starts to piss. Ax kneels there, piss on his hair and running down his face.
‘Will you say, ‘thank you boss’?’
‘Thank you boss.’
‘There.’ says Pigsty, zipping up. He waves for Ax to go away, Ax retreats, wiping his face on his sleeve.
Pigsty takes another of those deep, deep breaths. He stands tall, the coarse nobility of his features suddenly apparent under the bright lights. The men holding Fiorinda and Fereshteh release them, and they join the others; the hippie guards stepping back.
‘Now you’re my team. Not Paul’s. Mine. Let’s go. We got a lot to do.’
He took them to the building where the Think Tank sessions had
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