Romeo's Tune (1990) by Mark Timlin

broke from his face and as the make-up he wore ran, he appeared to weep black tears. His face was contorted with concentration as he first coaxed, then bullied the guitar in his hands. The minutes flew by and I was completely wrapped up in the performance. All of a sudden I could tell he was building to a climax. A string broke with a sound like a pistol shot. He grinned. His movements became even more agitated and even Algy seemed to sense something coming. As McBain hit the final crashing chord he slipped the guitar from his shoulder, lifted it and rammed the body against the gong until the room was filled with shimmering sound. Then in an explosion of feedback McBain crashed the instrument into an amplifier. Then he lifted it by its slender neck and swept a tape machine to the ground. He ended the performance by hammering the body of the guitar into one of the organ speakers, smashing the horn to the floor. When the guitar was completely demolished he stood with the remains in his hands. Broken wood littered the floor. He tossed the neck with the strings hanging loose to Algy.
    ‘Is that good care, old boy?’ he asked with a big smile on his face.
    Then with a short bow to me he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
    Algy left the console and began to switch off the equipment piece by piece.
    ‘Cunt,’ he said.
    I started to ask if McBain always behaved like that but my voice sounded strange in my ears after the noise they had endured that day. Gradually I found I could hear myself again. Algy had started to clear up the mess.
    ‘What was all that about?’ I asked.
    ‘He was just showing off,’ replied Algy. ‘He doesn’t often get an audience these days.’ He continued to clear up the debris. ‘He was only showing off with the gun, too. He’d never have hit you down there on the range. He’s too good. It’s a shame he’s changed so much. He was the best laugh I’ve ever met, and women – Christ, they used to call him Romeo, he had so many women. I can’t remember the last time he had a woman here.’ Algy looked like a big, sad old grizzly and it made me sad too.
    ‘I think I’d better go now,’ I said.
    ‘Fine,’ said Algy.
    ‘How do I get through the gate?’
    ‘I’ll see you out.’
    ‘Can I say goodbye to McBain?’ I asked.
    ‘Don’t bother, he’ll be stoned by now.’
    ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Tell him thanks – and I did remember him after all.’
    ‘He’ll like that,’ said Algy and, after a pause, ‘Call again sometime, it gets a bit lonely here during the day. I’ll buy you a drink.’
    I felt a sudden warmth towards the big man. Being alone with an eccentric musician and his mother for weeks on end must begin to tell.
    ‘I’ll do that,’ I said. ‘Here’s my card.’ I hauled another from my pocket. ‘I gave one to McBain earlier, but he wasn’t interested.’
    ‘Cheers,’ said Algy. ‘You can’t phone here, we’ve only got the internal system working. But I’ll write our telex number down. It might come in handy sometime. Mind you, don’t give it to anyone. The papers do those stupid “Where are they now?” articles every so often and it freaks him out. I’m going to trust you. Don’t let me down, or I’ll get a bit annoyed.’
    ‘Believe me Algy,’ I said. ‘I’ll do my best not to annoy you any time. In fact I’ll guarantee it.’
    He smiled a big broken-toothed smile and wrote a six-figure number on a scrap of paper. I put the paper carefully in my wallet.
    He took me down to the gates which he opened with another remote control and watched me as I climbed into the E-Type.
    ‘Nice wheels,’ he shouted. ‘You’ll have to let me have a drive some time.’
    I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger then drove off in a shower of gravel. He waved once then stepped back and allowed the iron gates to close.

5

    I took the bundle of cash straight round to Ted Dallas’s garage. It was just down the road in Putney, and well flash like the