Zip Gun Boogie by Mark Timlin

Seltza. ‘And ended up in it.’
    â€˜She’d have to be sick to go to bed with that,’ said Chick, speaking for the first time. He had a Scottish accent. All three laughed and slapped palms. Very macho. I was starting to lose interest, and I was the only one without a drink.
    I looked at Chick. ‘You were there too, weren’t you?’
    â€˜Surely was.’
    â€˜See anything?’
    â€˜The same as him.’ He indicated Seltza.
    â€˜So none of you saw anything?’ I persevered.
    â€˜Looks like it.’ Seltza again.
    â€˜Thanks,’ I said. ‘You’ve been a big help.’
    â€˜Sarcastic guy,’ said Chick.
    I tried a different tack. ‘Did any of you know a bloke called Alan Gee? Algie. He was a road manager.’
    Turdo snickered. ‘Road manager.’ He mimicked my London accent. That went down well, I can tell you.
    â€˜Mark McBain’s personal?’ said Chick.
    I nodded.
    â€˜Who the fuck are we talking about?’ asked Turdo.
    â€˜You remember him,’ said Chick again. ‘Big mother-fucker. Used to work for Queen. He came to that fucking open-air gig we did in Houston. Where it rained.’
    â€˜First day it rained in a fucking year,’ said Turdo reminiscently. ‘And it had to be on us. I remember. What happened to him?’
    â€˜He was killed by some nutty fucking Yank. Fucking Americans! Algie was a good guy. Outstanding,’ said Chick.
    â€˜I was with him,’ I said.
    â€˜When?’ asked Chick.
    â€˜When he died. He saved my life.’
    â€˜That was you? Man, I read about that shit. It was all to do with McBain, yeah? I met him once. Crazy fucker, man. Always high. Christ, man, that was a shame.’
    â€˜It was,’ I said. ‘Algie was a friend.’
    â€˜So?’ asked Turdo.
    Chick put up his hand to quieten him. ‘Algie was cool. Didn’t take no bullshit. Why’d he do it? Why’d he die for you?’
    I shrugged. ‘No idea,’ I said. ‘I never got to know him as well as I would have liked. But you’re right, he didn’t take any bullshit. It wasn’t the only time he helped me. Someone close died and he was there for me.’
    â€˜A fucking lot of people round you die,’ said Seltza.
    I didn’t answer that.
    â€˜So what are you getting at?’ asked Chick.
    â€˜Nothing really,’ I said. ‘I know you don’t want me round here. Nor did Algie when I went and worked for McBain. But I am here. I’m a fact of life. Like piles. He got used to me. We ended up friends. He had a good attitude. I wondered if you lot knew him and were the same, or if you were just going to wank around and hope I took umbrage and left. Because I won’t, I promise you that. Also I wanted you to know that I’m not here to interfere in your lives – unless you gave Shapiro the heroin that nearly killed him. Maybe we can sort this all out with minimum trauma. But if something else bad happens the police will be called in and they tend to frown on certain recreational habits.’
    â€˜Like?’ asked Seltza.
    â€˜Drugs.’
    â€˜The man’s suggesting we take drugs,’ said Chick. But his tone was noticeably lighter than previously.
    â€˜I think we should see a lawyer, man,’ said Turdo. ‘That’s defamation of character.’
    â€˜You ain’t got no character to defame, man,’ said Seltza and finished his beer. ‘Anyone for another?’ he asked.
    Both the other roadies lifted their glasses in assent. ‘Wanna beer?’ he said to me.
    â€˜Sure,’ I said, and the ice was broken.

11
    I spent the rest of the evening with the roadies. We ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. Keith Pandora was in with his two playmates, and another woman who resembled an older, ravaged version of them whom I took to be their mother. She was a flower child gone to seed, with straight hair too black to