Death of a Cave Dweller by Sally Spencer Page B

how he thought that we had real talent. Then he started to feed us this line of crap about how he had all kinds of contacts in the record business an’ how he was a mate of a couple of the big promoters. You should have seen the look on Pete’s face. He was over the moon.”
    â€œBut you weren’t?”
    Walker shook his head. “You’ve met Jack, haven’t you? Would you ever mistake him for somebody with important connections in the music world? I didn’t know he was a shippin’ clerk back then, but I knew he had to have some kind of minor clerical job.”
    â€œSo why did you take him on?” Woodend asked, offering Walker a Capstan Full Strength. “Because it was what the others wanted?”
    Walker puffed on his cigarette, and shook his head again. “Things don’t happen in the Seagulls unless
I
want them to happen.”
    â€œWell then, what did make you agree?”
    â€œJack has his uses. He does make bookings for us, even if it’s only in crappy little clubs in back streets. He always drives the van, so the rest of us can get pissed after a gig. And whenever we’re short of a few bob, we can rely on him to put his hand in his wallet.”
    Woodend shook his head disbelievingly. “That’s just not good enough,” he said.
    Anger flashed briefly in Walker’s eyes. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.
    â€œI mean, you’re not convincin’ me. If you’re as good as you claim you are, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a better-connected manager than a young shippin’ clerk.”
    Walker grinned again, and this time there was a definite rueful edge to it. “If I tell you the real reason, will you keep it to yourself?”
    â€œMight it have anythin’ to do with the investigation?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen I won’t tell a soul.”
    Walker took another deep drag on his cigarette. “If you thought I was being a bit hard on Jack back in the Cellar, you were dead right,” he said. “I can’t help myself sometimes. The feller gets up my nose so much that I just have to lash out. But deep down, I like him.”
    â€œGo on,” Woodend said encouragingly.
    â€œThere’s a lot of people who could probably manage us better than he does, but there’s no one in the whole of Liverpool who
wants
to manage us as much as Jack. I saw that the moment I met him. It was desperately important to him. An’ I didn’t have the heart to say no.”
    â€œSo you put your careers on the line just to make someone you’d only just met a little bit happier?”
    Walker shrugged. “It’s more than a little bit happier. He’s on top of the world. Anyway, the way I see it, we’d make it if we had a monkey as a manager. It just might take a bit longer, that’s all.”
    Woodend remembered the scene back in the club. How Towers had looked so stressed when bringing up the issue of a new guitarist to replace Eddie Barnes. How he’d thought then that such scenes could not be uncommon when dealing with a volatile personality like Steve Walker.
    â€œWhat’s in it for him?” he asked.
    â€œWho? Jack?” Walker asked evasively.
    â€œThat is who we’re talkin’ about, isn’t it?”
    â€œWhat’s in it for any manager?” Walker countered, still evasive.
    Woodend sighed. “Look, from what you’ve said, he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in the music. An’ bein’ your manager is costin’ him both money an’ effort. So why’s he doin’ it?”
    Another shrug. “Jack’s got a lot of free time on his hands since his wife left him.”
    â€œWhen did this happen?”
    â€œA few weeks before he met us. She ran off with the coal man. That’s like the end of a bad joke, isn’t it?”
    â€œHow did he take it?”
    â€œLike I said, it