NO ONE ANSWERED.

HE STEPPED CAREFULLY OVER THE THRESHOLD, HITCHING UP THE LEGS OF HIS TROUSERS SO THEY WOULDN'T BRUSH UP AGAINST ANYTHING. GOD ONLY KNEW WHAT KIND OF FILTH WAS IN HERE. HE'D HEARD FROM HIS FRIEND JIMMY THAT MICK AND BOWIE HAD BEEN USING THIS GROTTY LITTLE FLAT AS A HIDEOUT EVER SINCE MICK'S DARING ESCAPE FROM THE MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON. MEMORIES OF THAT DISGUSTING PLACE WHERE MICK AND THE KEEF HAD WRITTEN THE FIRST STONES SONG HAD HIM GAGGING AND WISHING HE WERE BACK AT HOME, LISTENING TO BIG BAND ALBUMS AND WATCHING HIS GARDEN GROW.

FUCKING KEEF, HE THOUGHT. WHY CAN'T HE JUST SAVE HIMSELF FOR A CHANGE?

"HALLO?" HE CALLED AGAIN, TRYING NOT TO BREATHE IN TOO DEEPLY.

CHARLIE SHUDDERED. THIS WAS WORSE THAN THE '72 TOUR.

FINALLY, HE MADE IT TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM. THE LIGHTER WAS STARTING TO BURN HIS FINGERS. HE PRESSED ONE EAR AGAINST THE DOOR AND LISTENED.

THERE WAS A RHYTHMIC THUMPING COMING FROM INSIDE. HE CAUGHT HIMSELF JUST AS HIS HAND REACHED OUT TO TAP THE COUNTER-BEAT. NO TIME FOR THAT NOW, HE THOUGHT.

THERE WAS A LATCH ON THE DOOR, BUT THE LOCK WAS HANGING OPEN. HE BRACED HIMSELF AND PUSHED.

INSIDE, BOWIE WAS LYING SPREAD-EAGLE ON THE FLOOR, THUMPING HIS HEAD AGAINST THE CARPETING. A LARGE MAN, ROUGHLY THE SIZE OF ONE OF THE BARGES FLOATING UP THE THAMES, STOOD OVER HIM WITH A HUNTING RIFLE AND THE BIGGEST SET OF BRASS KNUCKLES CHARLIE HAD EVER SEEN.

"NO ONE STANDS GUARD LIKE HUGH JASTON!" THE LARGE MAN BELLOWED. BOWIE LET HIS HEAD DROP TO THE FLOOR AND GAVE A STRANGLED MOAN.

"NO ONE QUESTIONS YOUR IDENTITY LIKE HUGH JASTON!"

"WATTS. CHARLIE WATTS. AND THAT'S MY FUCKING SUSPECT SO BACK OFF, HUGE-ASS." HE WALKED OVER TO A SMALL TABLE AND SWITCHED ON THE LAMP, DROPPING THE NOW-SPENT LIGHTER AS HE DID.

HUGH JASTON LOOKED PUZZLED, A GINORMOUS FURROW CREASING HIS FOREHEAD. "BUT THE KEEF TOLD ME TO STAND GUARD UNTIL HE GOT BACK!"

"YEAH, WELL, WAITING FOR KEEF TO DO ANYTHING IS LIKE EXPECTING PAUL MCTWATNEY TO BE MADE OF SUNSHINE AND AWESOMESAUCE."

BOWIE GIGGLED AND MUTTERED SOMETHING ABOUT 'SPECIAL SAUCE'. WHATEVER THAT WAS.

HUGH JASTON STILL LOOKED CONFUSED.

CHARLIE SIGHED. "LOOK, I'LL TAKE IT FROM HERE, SHALL I? WHY DON'T YOU GO OUTSIDE AND MAKE SURE NO ONE'S COMING?"

"NO ONE GOES OUTSIDE LIKE HUGH JASTON!" HE STRODE ACROSS THE ROOM AND OUT THE DOOR. HIS MASSIVE FOOTFALLS SOUNDED LIKE A KETTLE DRUM AND CHARLIE SUDDENLY WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO GET THIS FARCE OVER AND DONE.

HE NUDGED BOWIE IN THE RIBS. "WHERE'D THEY GO?"

BOWIE ROLLED TO HIS BACK AND CHARLIE RECOILED IN HORROR. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING?" HE SHRIEKED, SCRAMBLING BACKWARDS TO GET AWAY. JESUS, THIS WAS WORSE THAN THE '72 TOUR AND ALL OF MICK'S CAMP PERIODS COMBINED.

CHARLIE DID THE ONLY THING HE COULD DO. HE STRAIGHTENED HIS SUIT COAT, SMOOTHED DOWN HIS HAIR, WALKED OVER TO WHERE BOWIE WAS STILL PREENING AND HIT HIM IN THE HEAD WITH THE SMALL HAMMER HE KEPT FOR EMERGENCIES LIKE THIS.

IT WAS EITHER THAT OR FEED HIM SOME BAD MUSHROOMS AND CHARLIE WAS ALL OUT OF BAD MUSHROOMS.

LOOKING AROUND THE ROOM, HE SAW NOTHING BUT SPANGLY PINK AND BLUE AND GREEN JUMPSUITS AND GARISH STRIPED TROUSERS. SOMEHOW, THOUGH, A SOLITARY BUTTON-DOWN SHIRT AND A PAIR OF JEANS HAD ESCAPED THE GLAM EXPLOSION. WORKING QUICKLY, HE STRIPPED THE UNCONSCIOUS BOWIE OF THE TERRIFYING OUTFIT AND RE-DRESSED HIM IN THE PLAIN CLOTHES.

BUT THERE WAS NO WAY CHARLIE WAS GOING TO BE ABLE TO CARRY BOWIE OUT OF THE FLAT BY HIMSELF. HE WALKED BACK INTO THE OUTER ROOM. THE LIGHT FROM THE RISING SUN TRICKLED IN THROUGH THE FILTHY WINDOWS AND REVEALED THE FULL HORROR OF WHAT LAY STREWN ABOUT THE FLOOR. OMG IS THAT A PANDA?? CHARLIE SHUDDERED AND YELLED FOR HUGH JASTON.

TOGETHER THEY MANAGED TO STUFF BOWIE INTO THE BACK SEAT OF THE CAR OUTSIDE. CHARLIE LIT A CIGARETTE AND STARTED FOR THE CAR, BUT HUGH JASTON WAS STILL STANDING ON THE CURB.

"NO ONE WAITS FOR THE KEEF TO RETURN LIKE HUGH JASTON?" HE ASKED, LOOKING A LITTLE LOST AND WORRIED.

"ARE YOU SURE HE'S COMING BACK? THERE'S NOTHING KEEF LIKES BETTER THAN TO FUCK OFF AROUND TOWN AND KEEP EVERYBODY WAITING." CHARLIE PAUSED. "OKAY, MAYBE ROLLING UP KITTENS AND SMOKING THEM, BUT STILL."

HUGH JASTON STRAIGHTENED HIS SHOULDERS. "NO ONE WILL COME BACK LIKE THE KEEF! AND NO ONE WILL WAIT FOR HIM LIKE HUGH JASTON!"

"O RLY?" WITHOUT WAITING FOR A REPLY, CHARLIE CLIMBED IN THE CAR AND PULLED AWAY FROM THE CURB. AS HE DROVE AWAY, HE HEARD HUGH JASTON CALL OUT.

"NO ONE SHOULD WATCH OUT FOR TRIUMPH LIKE CHARLIE WATTS!"

NOW, WHAT THE FUCK DID THAT MEAN?

THE STREETS OF LONDON WERE NEARLY EMPTY, HARDLY SURPRISING CONSIDERING THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR WAS TAKING PLACE IN THE CITY. AFTER YEARS OF PUBLICLY BAITING EACH OTHER, ANONYSAURUS AND SNARRYSAURUS REX HAD SUDDENLY DECLARED THAT THEY WERE IN LOVE. THE TABLOIDS HAD WORKED THEMSELVES INTO A FRENZY, REPORTING ON EVERYTHING FROM THE GROOM GIVING UP HIS HABIT OF TRYING TO CRUSH ANONYSAURUS INTO A PUDDLE WHENEVER THEY MET TO THE LINGERIE SHOP ANONYSAURUS HAD DESTROYED WHILE HUNTING FOR THE RECEPTION DINNER. RUMOR HAD IT THAT THE LOL_PRINCE WAS GOING TO ATTEND, FORGOING AN INTERNATIONAL TABLE TENNIS TOURNAMENT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWENTY YEARS.

CHARLIE SMILED AS HE TURNED A CORNER AND SAW A BIG CROWD OF PEOPLE WALKING DOWN THE SIDEWALK. THE KIDS WERE WEARING CAPSASAUR MASKS AND WAVING CARDBOARD TUBES PAINTED PINK AND SPARKLY WITH GLITTER.

THAT RIGHT THERE WAS WHY HE'D GOTTEN TANGLED UP IN THIS CRAZY MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE. HE COULDN'T SIT IDLY BY WHILE MICK THREATENED THE SAFETY OF THESE KIDS WITH HIS RELENTLESS PURSUIT OF THEIR MOTHERS, GRANDMOTHERS, AND OLDER SISTERS.

IN THE BACKSEAT, BOWIE STIRRED. CHARLIE STIFLED HIS LOLZ AS BOWIE SAT UP, LOOKED DOWN AT HIS CLOTHES AND STARTED SHRIEKING.

"OMFG! WOT DID U DO TO ME? NO ONE SAW ME, AMIRITE? THIS OUTFIT COULD URINE ME!" BOWIE SLID OFF THE SEAT AND DISAPPEARED FROM THE REARVIEW MIRROR.

"START TALKING OR I'M TAKING YOU STRAIGHT TO ST PAUL'S TO MEET YOUR ADORING AUDIENCE." CHOKING SOUNDS DRIFTED UP INTO THE FRONT SEAT AS CHARLIE PULLED UP TO A TRAFFIC LIGHT. "OR WE COULD JUST SIT HERE FOR A WHILE. DID YOU KNOW THEY JUST ADDED SOME OF THOSE ANTI-TERRORISM CAMERAS AT THIS INTERSECTION? THE PIX ARE V. EASY TO PULL UP ON THE INTERNETS, OR SO I HEAR."

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE THEY WENT! KEEF DID THAT ANNYONGANNOYING 'EXPLAIN THE ENTIRE PLAN' THING BUT I COULDN'T UNDERSTAND A SINGLE WORD HE SAID. TRUFAX."

CHARLIE COULD HARDLY ARGUE WITH THAT. HE HADN'T HAD A CONVERSATION WITH KEEF IN MORE THAN A DECADE IN WHICH HE'D UNDERSTOOD HALF OF WHAT WAS SAID. HE SHIFTED THE CAR INTO PARK AND TURNED AROUND IN HIS SEAT, CATCHING BOWIE BY THE COLLAR AND DRAGGING HIM UP TO EYE-LEVEL.

ALL THE COLOR DRAINED OUT OF BOWIE'S FACE. "I-I-I D-DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS!"

"I CALL SHENANIGANS," CHARLIE SPAT. "WE BOTH KNOW MICK COULDN'T KEEP A SECRET TO SAVE HIS LIFE. WHERE IS HE?"

HE SHOOK BOWIE BY THE COLLAR, HOPING THE ALIEN-LOOKING MAN WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO TELL HE WAS BLUFFING. ALL HE KNEW ABOUT TRIUMPH WAS HUGH JASTON'S WARNING AND NO ONE LOOKED LIKE MORE OF AN IDIOT THAN HUGH JASTON. HE PROBABLY ONLY READ BOOKS WITH PICTURES -- HARDLY THE IDEAL INFORMANT IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

BOWIE STARTED CRYING. "I RLY DON'T KNOW! MICK NEVER LET ME GO WITH HIM WHEN HE WENT TO MEET WITH TRIUMPH. ALL I KNOW IS THAT HE ALWAYS WALKED THERE INSTEAD OF DRIVING."

CHARLIE LET GO OF THE SHIRT AND BOWIE SANK BACK DOWN TO THE FLOORBOARDS, WHIMPERING LIKE A LITTLE GIRL WHOSE PUPPY HAD JUST BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH AIDS. "SO IT'S CLOSE TO YOUR FLAT, THEN," HE MUSED ALOUD.

"SOMETIMES, WHEN HE CAME BACK, MICK SMELLED LIKE PANCAKES." BOWIE SNIFFLED. "HE NEVER BROUGHT ANY FOR ME, THO."

"FFS, BOWIE, HOW DID YOU GET INVOLVED IN ALL THIS ANYWAY? LAST I HEARD, YOU WERE A PEENSEXUAL 100 PERCENT. I MEAN, YOUR KINK IS OKAY BUT WTF?"

"MICK TOLD ME THAT WE'D RUN AWAY TOGETHER TO START THE BOOB CIRCUS AND I'D GET TO WEAR A SHINY, SPANGLY COSTUME EVERY NIGHT!"

CHARLIE TURNED AROUND AND STARTED DRIVING, GIVING A JAUNTY!WAVE TO THE CARS LINED UP BEHIND THEM. "AND YOU BELIEVED HIM? LOL GULLIBLE! MICK'S BEEN MAKING PROMISES LIKE THAT FOR YEARS; HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU SEEN HIM FOLLOW THROUGH?"

BOWIE DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING, JUST CONTINUED SNIFFLING AND... JESUS, WAS HE WIPING HIS NOSE ON HIS SLEEVE? CHARLIE GRIMACED. THANK GOD IT WASN'T ONE OF HIS OWN SHIRTS.

"LOOK, I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU TO A FRIEND OF MINE. SHE'LL GET YOU CLEANED UP, FIND SOME NICE CLOTHES FOR YOU. THE WORKS." HE LOOKED IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR AND SAW BOWIE CLIMBING BACK UP ONTO THE SEAT, A WIDE GRIN SPREAD ACROSS HIS NARROW FACE. "YOU'LL LIKE HER."

"WHAT'S HER NAME? MAYBE I KNOW HER ALREADY! MICK INTRODUCED ME TO A BUNCH OF HIS FRIENDS, LIKE THE LADYSAUCER AND-"

IT TOOK ALMOST THREE HOURS TO GET TO CUDDLERAY'S HOUSE AND BY THE TIME HE PULLED INTO THE FORECOURT, HE WAS MORE THAN READY TO DUMP BOWIE AND FLEE FOR THE HILLS. THE ENTIRE TRIP WAS ONE LONG TL;DR RECITATION OF EVERYTHING MICK HAD DONE FOR THE LAST MONTH -- NONE OF WHICH HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH BOOB-STEALING, THE BOOB CIRCUS, OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT INTERESTED CHARLIE IN THE SLIGHTEST.

FTLOG, HE'D EVEN TRIED DISTRACTING THE OTHER MAN WITH HIS IMMENSE COLLECTION OF CLASSICROCKSEXUAL CDS. THAT HAD LED TO A HALF-HOUR MONOLOGUE ON MICK'S PLANS FOR YET ANOTHER SOLO ALBUM THAT NO ONE WOULD BUY. TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE, CHARLIE HAD RUN OUT OF CIGARETTES LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR INTO THE TRIP AND HE HADN'T FELT COMFORTABLE LEAVING BOWIE ALONE IN THE CAR LONG ENOUGH TO RUN INTO A SHOP TO BUY MORE.

"FUCKING KEEF," HE MUTTERED UNDER HIS BREATH.

AS SOON AS HE'D PUT THE CAR IN PARK, HE JUMPED OUT AND PRACTICALLY RAN FOR THE FRONT DOOR. BOWIE FOLLOWED BEHIND, STILL CHATTERING ABOUT "MICK THIS" AND "MICK THAT" AND "KEEF DIDN'T EVEN LISTEN WHEN..."

CHARLIE STOPPED SO QUICKLY THAT BOWIE RAN RIGHT INTO HIS BACK.

"Y HALO THAREEEEEEEE!" WHATEVER BOWIE HAD BEEN ABOUT TO SAY TRAILED OFF INTO A SHRIEK AS CHARLIE ROUNDED ON HIM.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT KEEF?"

BOWIE COWERED A LITTLE. AN ANGRY WATTS WAS NOTHING ANYONE WANTED TO SEE, AN IMPRESSION CHARLIE HAD WORKED HARD AT CULTIVATING OVER THE YEARS. HIS FACE WAS JUST AS IMPASSIVE AS USUAL, BUT A TINY VEIN FLICKERED NEAR HIS RIGHT EYE AND HIS SHOULDERS WERE STIFF.

"N-NOTHING?"

CHARLIE RAISED AN EYEBROW AND BOWIE FLINCHED, THEN STARTED GABBLING MADLY. "WHEN HE CAME TO THE FLAT MICK TRIED TO TALK HIM INTO JOINING UP WITH US BUT THAT HUGE GUY KEPT BELLOWING AND THREATENING TO SEND MICK TO THE LOONY BIN AND THEN KEEF STARTED TELLING US WHAT HE WAS GOING TO DO AND I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING HE SAID EXCEPT 'LAWLMEEM'!"

HE STOPPED TALKING WITH AN AUDIBLE GULP AND TWISTED HIS FINGERS IN THE BOTTOM OF HIS SHIRT. CHARLIE SUDDENLY FELT A MILLION YEARS OLD, JUST LOOKING AT HIM. THEY WERE LESS THAN TEN YEARS APART IN AGE, BUT SOMETHING ABOUT BOWIE WAS SO ODD, SO ALIEN, THAT HE SEEMED LIKE HE WAS BARELY OUT OF PUBERTY. THAT WAS PROBABLY WHY MICK HAD PICKED HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CHARLIE CUFFED HIM ON THE SHOULDER AND NODDED TOWARD THE HOUSE. "GET IN THERE, WILL YOU? THE W.C.'S AT THE END OF THE HALL, LAST DOOR ON THE LEFT. WASH SOME OF THAT GRIT OFF YOUR FACE OR SOMETHING."

BOWIE TURNED AWAY AND CHARLIE FOLLOWED SLOWLY, HANDS JAMMED IN HIS TROUSER POCKETS.

ONCE THEY WERE INSIDE THE HOUSE, BOWIE PRACTICALLY RAN DOWN THE HALLWAY. CHARLIE BIT BACK A GRIN AND WENT THROUGH THE SITTING ROOM TO THE KITCHEN.

CUDDLERAY WAS FLITTING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN THE TABLE AND THE COUNTER, BOTH OF WHICH WERE PILED HIGH WITH POTS AND PANS AND DIRTY DISHES.

"HALLO, CUDDLES," CHARLIE SAID.

"CHARLIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" CUDDLERAY FLEW ACROSS THE ROOM AND WRAPPED HERSELF AROUND HIM FOR A SNUGGLE. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"I BROUGHT SOMEONE TO MEET YOU. NAME'S BOWIE. HE'S A NICE GUY, JUST A LITTLE.... WELL, YOU'LL SEE FOR YOURSELF." HE MANAGED TO PEEL HER OFF OF HIM LONG ENOUGH TO TAKE A BREATH THEN POINTED AT THE DIRTY COUNTERS. "NEED A HAND?"

CUDDLERAY SIGHED. "WE HAD A FOOD!PORN PARTY AND, OF COURSE, EVERYBODY LEFT BEFORE I COULD ASK FOR HELP TIDYING UP." SHE FLIPPED A DISHTOWEL AT HIM AS HE STEPPED UP TO THE SINK AND STARTED FILLING IT WITH WARM WATER.

SHE CHATTERED BRIGHTLY WHILE HE WASHED DISHES, STILL FLITTING AROUND THE ROOM AS THOUGH SHE WERE AFRAID SHE'D MISSED SOMETHING. CHARLIE TUNED HER OUT AS SHE LAUNCHED INTO THE SAME STORY FOR THE SECOND TIME IN A ROW. INSTEAD, HE REPLAYED WHAT BOWIE HAD SAID ON THEIR WAY INTO THE HOUSE.

SO, KEEF HAD MENTIONED THE LOL_MEME, HAD HE? THAT WAS INTERESTING.

"YOU KNOW KEEF. HE'D RATHER STICK HIS HEAD IN A MICROWAVE THAN USE HIS MOBILE. DAMNIT, I WISH BOWIE HAD PAID A LITTLE MORE ATTENTION!" HE SHOT A GLARE AT THE SLENDER MAN FAST ASLEEP ON THE FLOOR. EVEN CUDDLERAY'S GENTLE PROBING AND SNUGGLY ATTITUDE HADN'T GOTTEN HIM TO REMEMBER MUCH MORE THAN HE'D ALREADY TOLD CHARLIE.

CUDDLERAY FOLDED IN ON HERSELF AND SETTLED DEEPER INTO THE COUCH CUSHIONS. HER EYES WERE CLOSED AND SHE WAS HUMMING SOFTLY. CHARLIE LIGHTLY TAPPED OUT AN ACCOMPANYING PERSUSSION LINE ON THE COFFEE TABLE. IT SOUNDED VAGUELY CARIBBEAN, HARDLY SURPRISING AFTER SPENDING THE NIGHT LISTENING TO CUDDLERAY'S TROPICAL LILT.

CHRIST, HE WAS SO EXHAUSTED HE COULD BARELY KEEP HIS EYES OPEN, LET ALONE KEEP THE BEAT. EVERY PART OF HIM ACHED TO FIND THE NEAREST BED AND SLEEP FOR A WEEK. WITH A START, HE REALIZED THAT HE STILL HADN'T CALLED IN TO REPORT HIS PROGRESS. HE FISHED AROUND IN HIS POCKETS FOR HIS MOBILE BUT PULLED OUT A HANDFUL OF COINS, HIS SPARE LIGHTER, AND A SCRAP OF PAPER WITH HIS OWN FACE SKETCHED ON IT INSTEAD. GROANING, HE PUSHED HIMSELF TO HIS FEET. "I'LL BE RIGHT BACK, CUDDLES. LEFT MY MOBILE IN THE CAR."

SHE WAVED VAGUELY AT HIM AND KEPT HUMMING. ON HIS WAY OUT, HE GRABBED HER CRUMPLED PACKET OF CIGARETTES AND SHOOK IT. DEFINITELY TIME TO BUY MORE -- AFTER A FEW HOURS WITHOUT A NICOTINE FIX, CUDDLERAY STARTED TO RESEMBLE ONE OF HER LESS FLUFFY RELATIVES.

CHARLIE PAUSED OUTSIDE LONG ENOUGH TO LIGHT UP. AS HE BLEW OUT THE SMOKE, HE NOTICED THAT THE SUN WAS JUST STARTING TO PEEK THROUGH THE TREES ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE PROPERTY. JESUS, WAS IT REALLY THAT LATE... EARLY? HE HADN'T PULLED AN ALL-NIGHTER IN YEARS, NOT SINCE THE BUNGLED OPERATION AT THE MARQUEEN'S MASQUERADE. THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED UNDER HIS FEET AS HE WALKED TO THE CAR. MAYBE WHEN THIS WAS OVER, HE'D PACK UP SOME EQUIPMENT AND HEAD OFF TO LOLSTRALIA, GET A FEW HOURS OF ABORIGINAL DRUMS ON TAPE. ADD SOME WAVES CRASHING ON THE BEACH, SEE IF HE COULDN'T DIG UP THAT TOY DRUMSET FROM "STREET FIGHTING MAN"....

THE MOBILE WAS RIGHT WHERE HE EXPECTED TO FIND IT, WEDGED IN BETWEEN THE CONSOLE AND THE SEATBELT BUCKLE. DAMNED THING WAS ALWAYS SLIDING OUT OF HIS TROUSER POCKETS AND HE COULD NEVER REMEMBER TO PUT IT ANYWHERE ELSE. THE DISPLAY LIT UP WHEN HE THUMBED THE ENTER BUTTON: SEVEN MISSED CALLS AND ONE TEXT, ALL FROM HQ. FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC.

HE QUICKLY SCROLLED THROUGH THE CONTACT LIST AND HIT SEND. NOT MUCH POINT IN CHECKING ANY OF THE MESSAGES. THEY WERE ALWAYS THE SAME: 'BACK ON THE ROAD Y/Y?' FOLLOWED BY HIS PERSONAL OPERATIVE CODE.

WHILE HE WAITED FOR HIS HQ CONTACT TO PICK UP, CHARLIE STRETCHED AND LEANED AGAINST THE HOOD OF THE CAR. WITH ANY LUCK, THEY'D HAVE AT LEAST ONE CONCRETE LEAD HE COULD FOLLOW.

"HAY BB," A GRAVELLY VOICE RASPED IN HIS EAR.

SHE WAS PRACTICALLY PURRING INTO THE PHONE AND CHARLIE COULDN'T HELP BUT REACT TO THE SATISFACTION IN HER TONE. A SATISFIED MARIANNE WASN'T SOMETHING TO WHICH ANY MAN WAS IMMUNE (EXCEPT MAYBE BOWIE), BUT NOW WAS DEFINITELY NOT THE TIME.

"YOU'RE TAKING ME OFF THE CASE SO I CAN GO HOME Y/Y?"

MARIANNE LAUGHED, LOW AND SMOKY. "NO SUCH LUCK, SRY2SAY. YOU'RE IN IT FOR THE LONG HAUL THIS TIME: WE'VE HAD A SIGHTING."

"OH, THANK JEEBUS. WHERE?" CHARLIE SCRATCHED HIS HEAD. HE WAS SO TIRED HE COULDN'T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT. "AND, ERM, WHO?"

"LOL N00B! WE’VE HAD A SIGHTING OF KEEF."

"OMFG I’M TOTALLY SLEEP-DEPRIVED RIGHT NOW, M. BACK OFF."

"DON'T CALL ME M," SHE HISSED. "M COULDN'T TELL HIS ASSHOLE FROM A TEACUP AND THOSE MOVIES ARE so FUCKING SEXIST, AMIRITE?"

CHARLIE BIT BACK A SIGH. THIS WAS ONE OF MARIANNE'S FAVORITE TIRADES AND NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES SHE WAS TOLD TO JUST DROP IT, SHE MANAGED TO TURN EVERY CONVERSATION AROUND TO THE SUBJECT EVENTUALLY. "OKAY!"

"DAMN STRAIGHT."

HE WAITED FOR HER TO CONTINUE BUT SHE STAYED STUBBORNLY SILENT. "...THE SIGHTING, MARIANNE?"

SHE SNIFFED. "MAYBE I SHOULD JUST LET YOU FIND IT YOURSELF."

OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE, HE THOUGHT.

"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE," HE SAID. "NAME NAMES OR GTFO."

"IN A MINUTE, BB. WHAT'VE YOU FOUND OUT SO FAR?"

CHARLIE GOT BACK IN THE CAR. IF SHE WAS GOING TO KEEP HIM DANGLING LIKE THIS, HE MIGHT AS WELL GO FOR CIGARETTES AT THE SAME TIME. AS HE DROVE DOWN THE NARROW LANE TOWARD THE MOTORWAY, HE FILLED HER IN ON THE TINY BIT OF INFORMATION GLEANED FROM BOWIE AND WHAT LITTLE HE'D FOUND AT THE FLAT.

"HUGH JASTON?" SHE ASKED. THERE WAS A FAINT CLICKING SOUND AS SHE TYPED SOMETHING INTO HER LAPTOP, SOMETHING NO ONE HAD EVER SEEN HER WITHOUT SINCE SHE'D RECIEVED IT AS A PRESENT FROM AN ADORING FAN. "Y HELLLLOOOO THAR! I'D HIT THAT, NO QUESTION."

"WONDERFUL. ANYTHING HELPFUL YOU'D CARE TO SHARE?"

SHE SNORTED. "ONLY IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN WHETHER THAT BULGE IS REAL."

"NO THX," CHARLIE REPLIED.

"YOUR LOSS...."

SHE WENT SILENT AGAIN, BUT HE COULD HEAR HER FINGERS FLYING ACROSS THE KEYS. HE PULLED THE CAR INTO THE PARKING LOT OF A BP TRAVEL PLAZA AND TURNED OFF THE ENGINE. "OMG MARIANNE, WHERE IS HE?"

"PROBABLY STILL WAITING AT THE FLAT. DAMN THAT'S A NICE ASS..."

CHARLIE FELT THE VEIN AT HIS TEMPLE START TO THROB. "WHERE. IS. KEEF."

"OH, RIGHT." SHE SIGHED A LITTLE, THEN SLIPPED BACK INTO HER NO-NONSENSE BUSINESS VOICE. "ONE OF THE GOSSIP BLOGS IS REPORTING -- UNCORROBORATED, OF COURSE -- THAT HE'S BEEN SEEN IN CANADALAND."

CHARLIE FELT HIS GUT TIGHTEN WITH DREAD AS THE SATISFIED TONE CREPT BACK INTO HER VOICE.

"OH, BB, YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THIS," SHE RASPED. "HE'S IN QUEBEC!"

HER LAUGHTER BARELY EVEN REGISTERED AS CHARLIE SLUMPED FORWARD AND KNOCKED HIS HEAD AGAINST THE STEERING WHEEL.

HE WAS IN FRENCH-CANADALAND.

FUCKING KEEF WAS IN FUCKING FRENCH-CANADALAND.

"I'M STILL AT CUDDLES'."

"OH, RIGHT." SHE COVERED THE PHONE AND SPOKE TO SOMEONE. CHARLIE COULD ONLY MAKE OUT A FEW WORDS, "TINNED TOMATOES" AND "WHORESAUCE", AND MARIANNE WAS BACK BEFORE HE COULD CONNECT THEM TO ANYTHING. "I'M SENDING PEACHES TO YOUR HOUSE WITH YOUR DOCUMENTS AND TICKETS. HOW ARE YOU SET FOR WEAPONS?"

THIS WAS HIS LEAST FAVORITE PART OF THE JOB. ASIDE FROM HIS TRUSTY HAMMER, CHARLIE DIDN'T LIKE CARRYING WEAPONS, ESPECIALLY NOT THE CLUNKY SIDEARMS PREFERRED BY MOST OF HIS COLLEAGUES. THE HOLSTERS DID TERRIBLE THINGS TO THE LINING OF HIS SUITCOATS.

"I'M SURE THERE'S SOMETHING AT THE HOUSE..." HE TRAILED OFF BEFORE HE COULD FINISH THE SENTENCE. EVEN IF THERE WERE A GUN AT THE HOUSE, HE WOULDN'T HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE TO FIND IT.

MARIANNE WAS, OF COURSE, NOT HAVING ANY OF IT. "YOU'LL HAVE TO COME IN IMMEDIATELY THEN. I'LL HAVE ONE OF THE TROLLS MEET YOU AT THE RANGE WITH A SELECTION OF FIREARMS."

"BUT-"

"DON'T ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS, CHARLIE. YOU CAN'T WALK INTO QUEBEC WITHOUT SOME FORM OF PROTECTION. THEY'RE SAVAGES."

IT WAS USELESS TO ARGUE AND CHARLIE KNEW IT. THE QUEBECOIS WERE SAVAGES. ONE MINUTE YOU WERE WALKING DOWN THE STREET, HUMMING A LITTLE TUNE, AND THE NEXT YOU WERE LYING IN THE GUTTER AS THUGS SHOUTING THE MARSEILLAISE TAP-DANCED ON YOUR HEAD AND INSULTED THE MARQUEEN.

"FINE. I'LL BE THERE IN A FEW HOURS." CHARLIE HUNG UP ON HER BEFORE SHE COULD TWIST HIM INTO AGREEING TO ANYTHING FURTHER.

INSIDE THE GARISHLY LIT BP SHOP, HE GRABBED A COPY OF NME AND A PACKET OF ONION-FLAVORED CRISPS. THE CLERK BEHIND THE COUNTER GRUNTED WHEN CHARLIE ASKED FOR A CARTON OF CHESTERFIELDS AND SHIFTED HIS BULK OFF THE SMALL STOOL.

"ANYTHING ELSE?" THE HUGE MAN THREW THE CARTON DOWN ON TOP OF THE PACKET OF CRISPS. HIS NAME TAG, WHICH WAS COVERED IN GREASY DRIPS AND WHAT LOOKED LIKE CRUMBS OF SALT, IDENTIFIED HIM AS DAVY GEST.

CHARLIE SHOOK HIS HEAD AND TOSSED A FEW BILLS AT THE MAN, THEN SCOOPED UP HIS PURCHASES AND ALL BUT RAN TO THE CAR. THE LAST TIME HE'D STOPPED IN THIS PARTICULAR SHOP, HE'D BEEN TRAPPED INTO AN INTERMINABLE CONVERSATION ABOUT THE CLERK'S EX-WIFE. AS IF ANY SELF-RESPECTING WOMAN WOULD MARRY THAT LOL FATTY.

WHEN HE ARRIVED BACK AT CUDDLERAY'S HOUSE, SHE LEAPT INTO THE CAR ALMOST BEFORE HE HAD FINISHED PARKING AND RIPPED OPEN THE CARTON OF CIGARETTES. A FLICK AND AN 'AAAHH' LATER, SHE GAVE A THROATY PURR AND FLOATED BACK INTO THE HOUSE. CHARLIE FOLLOWED, THE SMELL OF MELTING BUTTER WAFTING ON THE AIR AND TICKLING HIS NOSE.

IN THE KITCHEN, BOWIE WAS ATTACKING A HUGE PLATE OF SAUSAGES AND TOMATOES. CUDDLERAY FLITTERED BETWEEN THE COUNTER AND THE TABLE, PILING TOAST ON A PLATTER AND SLIDING EGGS ONTO PLATES.

CHARLIE WAITED UNTIL HER BACK WAS TURNED AND TOSSED THE EMPTY CRISPS PACKET IN THE TRASH. BOWIE GAVE HIM A WIDE GRIN, REVEALING THE SKIN OF A TOMATO CLINGING TO HIS FRONT TEETH.

"EAT UP, CHARLIE!" CUDDLERAY NUDGED HIM TOWARD A CHAIR AND GRACEFULLY SETTLED OVER HER OWN SEAT. "PLENTY FOR EVERYBODY."

FORGOING HIS USUAL IMPECCABLE TABLE MANNERS, HE STARTED SHOVELLING FOOD IN HIS MOUTH. THIS WAS PROBABLY THE LAST GOOD MEAL HE'D HAVE BEFORE THIS CASE WAS OVER. CUDDLES GIGGLED A LITTLE THEN LAUNCHED INTO A STORY SHE HAD ALREADY TOLD AT LEAST A HALF-DOZEN TIMES SINCE HE AND BOWIE HAD ARRIVED. CHARLIE LET HIS MIND WANDER WHILE SHE TALKED, TRYING TO REMEMBER WHO HE STILL KNEW IN QUEBEC.

THE DRIVE BACK TO LONDON PASSED EXPONENTIALLY FASTER THAN THE TRIP TO CUDDLERAY’S. WITHOUT BOWIE’S CHATTERING TO DRIVE HIM CRAZY, CHARLIE HAD AMPLE TIME TO START FLESHING OUT A PLAN FOR QUEBEC. A FEW PHONE CALLS HAD PRODUCED THE NAMES OF TWO COPS WHO WERE STILL FRIENDLY TO THE ORGANIZATION AFTER THE ’77 DEBACLE IN TORONTO.

FUCKING KEEF.

THE MOBILE RANG AGAIN JUST AS CHARLIE PULLED INTO A PARKING SPACE IN FRONT OF THE HOTEL THAT DOUBLED AS HEADQUARTERS.

“HALLO?”

“CHARLIEEEEEEEEE! WHAT’S UP, MAN? WHAT’RE YOU DOING?”

OH, THIS WAS ALL HE NEEDED. “HAI RONNIE. JUST, UH, RUNNING SOME ERRANDS. WHAT’S UP?”

“NOTHING, MAN, NOTHING. JUST WANTED TO REACH OUT TO MY FAVORITE DRUMMER AND SAY HAI.” RON SOUNDED NERVOUS – NEVER A GOOD THING. “SO. HAI.”

CHARLIE BIT HIS TONGUE TO KEEP FROM SNAPPING AT RONNIE. IT WASN’T THE KID’S FAULT HE WAS ALWAYS SO OUT OF TOUCH WITH EVERYONE ELSE. AS THE SOLE MUSICIAN-ONLY MEMBER OF THE STONES, HE SPENT MORE TIME IN THE DARK THAN JOE COCKER. WELL, THAT AND THE YEARS HE’D SPENT UNDER THE THUMB OF ROD STEWART MEANT THAT RONNIE HAD GOTTEN THE SHORT END OF MORE THAN A DOZEN STICKS.

SOMETIMES LITERALLY.

“LOOK, RONNIE, IT’S GREAT TO HEAR FROM YOU BUT I’M PRESSED FOR TIME TODAY. DID YOU NEED SOMETHING?”

“OH, NO. NO. I JUST. WELL, THAT IS... NO, IT’S NOTHING. GET BACK TO YOUR ERRANDS, MAN. I’LL CALL YOU IN A FEW DAYS.” HIS VOICE FELL A LITTLE AT THE END OF HIS HALTING SPEECH. “IT’S NOTHING, RLY.”

“ARE YOU SURE?”

“YEAH, MAN. I GOTTA GO ANYWAY; ROD’S ON THE OTHER LINE.”

CHARLIE THUMBED THE END BUTTON, FEELING UNEASY. THERE WAS SOMETHING WRONG WITH RONNIE BUT HE COULDN’T WRAP HIS BRAIN AROUND IT. HE GLANCED AT THE DISPLAY OF THE MOBILE AND SLUGGISHLY COUNTED THE HOURS SINCE HE’D LAST SLEPT.

“OH, FUCK ME,” HE GROANED. TWENTY-EIGHT HOURS AND SOME CHANGE AND HE COULD FEEL IT IN EVERY PORE.

THE LOBBY AT HQ WAS BUSTLING WITH ACTIVITY. HE FLASHED HIS CREDENTIALS AT THE DESK GUARD AND RODE THE ELEVATOR UP TO THE SEVENTH FLOOR. ONE OF THE TROLL BROTHERS WAS WAITING FOR HIM WHEN THE DOORS OPENED.

“I BROUGHT THE SIG. ALL THE OTHER GUNS ARE SHIT.”

“Y HALO THAR TO YOU TOO, ASSHOLE. HOW’S MARCO?”

ASSHOLE!TROLL SHOT HIM A GLARE AND PIVOTED SHARPLY TO WALK DOWN THE HALLWAY. “MARIANNE SAID YOU’VE GOT TO BE FIELD RATED AGAIN BEFORE YOU LEAVE. LET’S GO. I’VE SEEN YOUR LAST EXAMINATION. HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET CERTIFIED IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

CHARLIE DIDN’T BOTHER TO RESPOND. ONE OF THE TROLLS’ ENDURING CHARMS WAS THEIR COMPLETE INABILITY TO HAVE A CIVILIZED CONVERSATION.

THE FIRING RANGE ITSELF REEKED OF CORDITE AND STALE SWEAT. TAKING CARE NOT TO BREATHE TOO DEEPLY, CHARLIE SLUNG A PROTECTIVE HEADSET AROUND HIS NECK AND GRABBED THE SIG OUT OF ITS CASE. ASSHOLE COUGHED.

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. WHAT NOW?” CHARLIE GROWLED.

“BREAK IT DOWN.” ASSHOLE CROSSED HIS ARMS AND GLOWERED, SWEAT GLISTENING ON HIS PROTRUDING BROW.

“I’M NOT SOME FUCKING ROOKIE, ASSHOLE. BREAK IT DOWN YOURSELF IF YOU WANT IT DONE.”

ASSHOLE UNCROSSED HIS ARMS AND SHIFTED HIS WEIGHT AS CHARLIE STARED HIM DOWN. “ALL RIGHT, FINE.”

THAT WAS THE TRICK TO DEALING WITH THE TROLLS – THEY ALWAYS BACKED DOWN.

ALMOST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER HE’D GOTTEN THE CALL FROM MR JIMMY TELLING HIM WHERE TO FIND MICK’S HIDEOUT, CHARLIE LET HIMSELF IN THE BACK DOOR OF HIS HOUSE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF RICHMOND. HE WAS BARELY EVEN RUNNING ON FUMES – THE LONG DRIVE TO AND FROM CUDDLERAY’S, BOWIE’S INCESSANT MICK-WORSHIP, HAVING TO PROVE HIMSELF IN FRONT OF ASSHOLE!TROLL, ARGUING AGAIN WITH MARIANNE FOR ALMOST AN HOUR...

HE WAS SURPRISED HE WAS STILL CONSCIOUS, LET ALONE FUNCTIONING.

AS HE LOOKED AROUND THE SPACIOUS KITCHEN, HE REALIZED THAT SOMETHING WASN'T QUITE RIGHT. HIS CHAIR WAS STILL PUSHED BACK FROM THE TABLE, THE LATEST EDITION OF DRUMWORLD SPREAD OUT TO THE RIGHT OF WHERE HE'D EATEN. EVERYTHING ELSE LOOKED AS IT ALWAYS DID AND IT TOOK HIM FAR TOO LONG TO FIGURE OUT WHAT WAS DIFFERENT: THE BOWL AND SPOON HE’D USED FOR SUPPER THE DAY BEFORE WAS WASHED AND DRIED AND SITTING ON THE COUNTER, A THIN FOLDER LYING NEXT TO IT.

“PEACHES, YOU’RE A DOLL,” HE TOLD THE EMPTY ROOM AS HE DROPPED HIS KEYS INTO THE BASKET HANGING ON THE WALL.

“OMG INORITE?”

CHARLIE WHIRLED TOWARD THE VOICE AND PULLED HIS GUN FROM THE HATED HOLSTER UNDER HIS COAT. HE STARED DOWN THE BARREL, FINGER TWITCHING ON THE TRIGGER.

PEACHES STARED BACK AT HIM, ARMS BARELY RAISED AT HER SIDES. “GAWD, IF I KNEW YOU WERE, LIKE, SO TOUCHY ABOUT YOUR DISHES AND STUFF, I WOULD HAVE JUST, LIKE, LEFT IT DIRTY.”

SHE SHOOK BACK HER TANGLED HAIR AND SNIFFED. CHARLIE LOWERED THE GUN AND TOOK A DEEP BREATH. HIS HEART WAS RACING SO HARD HE FELT LIKE HE’D JUST DONE TEN LINES OF COKE. HE FUMBLED THE SIG BACK INTO ITS HOLSTER AND SAGGED AGAINST THE COUNTER.

“DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU’VE GOT LIKE TEN THOUSAND ALBUMS IN THERE? OMFG I THOUGHT ONLY MY DAD WAS THAT FREAKY ABOUT HIS COLLECTION.”

“PEACHES....” CHARLIE PINCHED THE BRIDGE OF HIS NOSE. “WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?”

SHE BLINKED LIKE SHE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND THE QUESTION. IN THE BRIGHT AND TIDY KITCHEN, SHE LOOKED COMPLETELY OUT OF PLACE WITH HER HEAVY EYE MAKEUP AND RIPPED T-SHIRT. “MARIANNE SENT ME? WITH YOUR TICKETS AND STUFF?”

“YEAH, I SEE THAT. WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?”

“OH. I DUNNO. I WAS CLEANING UP AND THEN THE POST CAME SO I WENT TO GET IT AND THEN THE PHONE RANG SO I ANSWERED THAT AND I SAW A MAGAZINE THAT I HADN’T READ YET AND THEN I REMEMBERED THAT THERE WAS A SHOW ON SKYONE I COULDN’T MISS AND I WANTED TO SEE WHAT KIND OF MUSIC YOU HAD AND ANYWAY MARIANNE TOLD ME TO MAKE SURE YOU DIDN’T MISS YOUR FLIGHT AND THEN YOU CAME IN AND PULLED A GUN ON ME.”

GOD, HE WAS SO TIRED THAT WHAT SHE SAID MADE PERFECT SENSE. HE GRABBED THE FOLDER OFF THE COUNTER AND STARTED FLIPPING THROUGH ITS CONTENTS. TICKETS, PASSPORT WITH TOURIST VISA TUCKED INSIDE, A DOSSIER LISTING SOME OF KEEF'S FAVORITE HANGOUTS IN QUEBEC AND A FULL PROFILE FOR EACH OF THE COPS CHARLIE HAD BEEN TOLD WOULD BE FRIENDLY TO THE INVESTIGATION. AT LEAST, THAT'S WHAT HE THOUGHT IT ALL WAS. THE WORDS STARTED TO SWIM AROUND ON THE PAGE AND HE CLOSED HIS EYES AGAINST A SUDDEN TIDE OF NAUSEA.

"YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT." PEACHES CRACKED HER GUM AND WALKED OVER TO PUT A HAND ON HIS SHOULDER. "SIT DOWN; I'LL PUT THE KETTLE ON."

CHARLIE LET HER PUSH HIM INTO A CHAIR AND STARTED TO DRIFT AS SHE RUMMAGED THROUGH DRAWERS AND FILLED THE KETTLE. SHE KEPT UP A RUNNING COMMENTARY OF GOSSIP AND HE LET THE UNENDING STREAM OF INANITIES FLOAT IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER. APPARENTLY HER SISTER HAD STARTED DATING SOME GREASY LOSER AND HER BEST FRIEND WAS OMG SO JELLUS OF THE NEW GIRL WHO'D BEEN HANGING AROUND THEIR FAVORITE CLUB AND WHOEVER IT WAS ON THE PHONE EARLIER HADN'T LEFT A NAME BUT HE SAID THAT CHARLIE HAD BETTER HAUL ASS TO QUEBEC BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE....

. . . .

CHARLIE JERKED AWAKE AND SWIPED AT THE PUDDLE OF DROOL HE’D LEFT ON THE TABLE. THE KITCHEN WAS DARK, THE ONLY LIGHT SPILLING THROUGH THE DOORWAY FROM THE FRONT HALL. HE RUBBED HIS EYES AND STRETCHED AS HE STOOD UP. HIS SPINE CRACKLED AND POPPED AND HE LET OUT A GROAN.

HE PULLED HIS MOBILE FROM HIS POCKET AND CHECKED THE TIME – HE’D BEEN ASLEEP FOR A LITTLE LESS THAN AN HOUR. HE HAD JUST ENOUGH TIME TO PACK A BAG AND GET TO THE AIRPORT BEFORE HE MISSED HIS FLIGHT.

MOVING INTO THE HALLWAY, HE HEARD PEACHES SINGING ALONG WITH SOME HORRID POP SONG IN THE LOUNGE. HE WINCED AS SHE HIT A PARTICULARLY PAINFUL NOTE AND QUICKLY RUSHED UPSTAIRS.

PACKING TOOK ONLY A FEW MOMENTS. APPARENTLY, THOSE EARLY YEARS OF TRAVELLING THE COUNTRY OUT OF THE BACK OF A VAN WERE GOOD FOR SOMETHING AFTER ALL, EVEN IF HE DID STILL HAVE THE OCCASIONAL NIGHTMARE ABOUT SHARING A SUITCASE WITH MICK AGAIN.

GLANCING AT THE ALARM CLOCK BY THE BED, HE DEBATED WHETHER HE HAD ENOUGH TIME FOR A SHOWER AND A SHAVE. HE SCRUBBED A HAND ACROSS HIS CHIN AND GRIMACED. FUCK IT, THERE WAS NO WAY HE WAS LEAVING THE HOUSE LOOKING LIKE THIS.

THE HOT WATER FELT LIKE A BLESSING ON HIS TIRED AND ACHING BODY. FORGET LOLSTRALIA – WHEN THIS WAS OVER HE WAS GOING TO MOVE INTO THIS VERY SHOWER. EATING MIGHT BE A PROBLEM, BUT HE WAS CONFIDENT THAT HE’D EVENTUALLY FIND A WAY TO GET AROUND THAT.

WHEN HE’D FINISHED DRESSING IN A DARK SUIT AND PLAIN BUTTONDOWN SHIRT, CHARLIE SHRUGGED INTO THE SHOULDER HOLSTER AND PULLED ON HIS SUIT COAT. THE MIRROR SHOWED A MAN WITH HOLLOWED-OUT EYES AND AN UNSIGHTLY BULGE UNDER HIS RIGHT ARM. IF HE WAS REALLY LUCKY, MAYBE SECURITY WOULD BAR HIM FROM BOARDING THE PLANE. HE GRABBED THE ELECTRIC RAZOR AND TRIED NOT TO HOPE THAT HE WOULD BE TOO LATE FOR HIS FLIGHT.

PEACHES WAS WAITING IN HIS BEDROOM WITH A TRAVEL MUG, TWIRLING A SET OF KEYS AROUND HER FINGER. “I JUST TALKED TO MARIANNE. THEY’RE GOING TO HOLD THE FLIGHT UNTIL YOU GET THERE AND YOU’RE CLEARED WITH SECURITY THROUGH QUEBEC. I’M BORROWING SOME OF YOUR ALBUMS, TOO. DAD KEEPS TELLING ME I NEED TO APPRECIATE SOME OF THAT OLD FART MUSIC.

“OH, AND IF ANYBODY ASKS, MARIANNE SAID TO TELL THEM THAT YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT GOING TO SCOUT OUT RECORDING STUDIOS AND YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ANY RUMORS OF A NEW ALBUM AND/OR TOUR. SHE’S GOT ONE OF THE BLOGGERS READY TO GO WITH A POST ABOUT THE STONES REUINITING FOR A LIMITED ENGAGEMENT CLUB TOUR. IS THIS YOUR BAG? WE SHOULD GET GOING; I’LL DRIVE.” SHE GRABBED THE SUITCASE OFF THE BED AND SKIPPED FROM THE ROOM, LEAVING CHARLIE STANDING IN THE DOORWAY STILL TRYING TO PROCESS EVERYTHING SHE’D SAID.

WHO THE HELL HAD DECIDED HIRING TEENAGERS WAS A GOOD IDEA ANYWAY?

THE DRIVE TO THE AIRPORT TOOK LESS THAN TEN MINUTES AND PEACHES NEARLY KILLED THEM AT LEAST FIVE TIMES BEFORE SHE FINALLY PULLED TO A SHUDDERING HALT IN THE UNLOADING ZONE. CHARLIE PEELED HIS FINGERS FROM THE DASHBOARD AND STAGGERED FROM THE CAR. PEACHES GAVE A WIGGLE OF HER FINGERS AND PEELED OUT FROM THE CURB, CAUSING AT LEAST THREE CABS TO VEER WILDLY OUT OF THE WAY TO AVOID BEING HIT.

AS PROMISED, THE INTERNATIONAL FLIGHT WAS STILL WAITING AT THE GATE WHEN HE ARRIVED. AN OBSEQUIOUS LITTLE MAN USHERED HIM TO A SEAT IN FIRST CLASS, PRACTICALLY FALLING OVER HIS OWN FEET AS HE OFFERED COMPLIMENTS AND COCKTAILS IN A THICK FRENCH ACCENT. CHARLIE FASTENED THE LAP BELT AND SETTLED BACK INTO THE WIDE SEAT, RELAXING FULLY FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MORE THAN A DAY. HE CLOSED HIS EYES AND RECLINED THE SEAT BACK. "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, MAN. ALL I WANT TO DO IS SLEEP."

THE MAN GAVE A DISAPPOINTED HUM. "OF COURZ, ZIR, OF COURZ. HAVE A PLEZZANT FLIGHT! BUT FIRZT, ZE CHAMPAGNE!"

THE FLIGHT TO QUEBEC WAS A STUDY IN FRUSTRATION. EVERY TIME HE MANAGED TO DROP OFF TO SLEEP, THE PLANE WOULD HIT A PATCH OF TURBULENCE AND JOLT HIM AWAKE. HALFWAY THROUGH THE FLIGHT, A SMALL CHILD WANDERED AWAY FROM ITS SEAT AND SPENT THE NEXT HALF-HOUR ALTERNATELY POKING CHARLIE IN THE LEG AND STUFFING SPITTY TOYS IN HIS HANDS. HE ALMOST CRIED IN RELIEF WHEN THE LITTLE BUGGER’S NANNY FINALLY CAME TO COLLECT THE CHILD, WHO THEN SPENT ANOTHER HALF AN HOUR WAILING AND MAKING GRABBY HANDS IN CHARLIE’S DIRECTION FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CABIN.

TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE, THE STUFFY LITTLE FRENCHMAN HAD STEADFASTLY IGNORED CHARLIE’S EVERY ATTEMPT AT GETTING HIS ATTENTION. EVENTUALLY, ANOTHER OF THE FIRST-CLASS ATTENDANTS TOOK PITY ON HIM AND SECURED HIM A SEAT IN THIRD-CLASS. HE IGNORED THE STARES FROM THE GARISHLY DRESSED TOURISTS PACKED LIKE SARDINES IN THE TINY SEATS AND COLLAPSED GRATEFULLY INTO HIS NEW SEAT.

JUST AS HE WAS ON THE VERGE OF FALLING ASLEEP FOR AT LEAST THE TENTH TIME, HE HEARD THE MAN SITTING IN FRONT OF HIM TURN AROUND AND SNAP HIS FINGERS.

“YOU’RE CHARLIE WATTS, AIN’T YA?”

“NO.”

“YEAH YOU ARE! I SAW Y’ALL IN CONCERT ABOUT TWENTY YEARS AGO. HELL OF A SHOW.” THE MAN SCRATCHED HIS NOSE. “HELL OF A SHOW.”

“THAT’S GREAT,” CHARLIE SAID WITHOUT OPENING HIS EYES. “I’M NOT HIM.”

THE MAN SOUNDED CONFUSED. “YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HIM.”

“I’M ENGLISH. WE ALL LOOK ALIKE.” CHARLIE PULLED THE THIN, SCRATCHY AIRLINE BLANKET UP OVER HIS FACE, HOPING THE MAN WOULD TAKE THE HINT. JUDGING BY THE DRAWLING SOUTHERN AMERICAN ACCENT, HE DOUBTED IT.

HE WAS RIGHT.

“I’M IRISH. JUST HEADING BACK FROM VISITING THE OLD COUNTRY. AW MAN, I GOTTA TELL YA, THEM GREEN FIELDS DID MY HEART GOOD.”

CHARLIE COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. HE LET THE BLANKET DROP TO HIS LAP AND SCOWLED. “YOU’RE IRISH-AMERICAN, IF ANYTHING. NOT IRISH. I KNOW IRISH PEOPLE, SIR. IRISH PEOPLE ARE FRIENDS OF MINE. YOU ARE NO IRISH PERSON. AND IF YOU DON’T TURN BACK AROUND AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, I’M GOING TO HAVE THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS ARREST YOU AS A MEMBER OF THE IRA.”

THE AMERICAN BLANCHED. “JEEZ, I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE CONVERSATION.” HE TURNED AROUND IN HIS SEAT AND MUMBLED TO HIMSELF, “SEE IF I BUY ONE OF YER LOUSY ALBUMS AGAIN....”

“GREAT, FINE. I’M SURE THE BAND WILL BE CRYING TEARS OF BLOOD INTO THEIR PILES OF MONEY.” CHARLIE PULLED THE BLANKET BACK OVER HIS HEAD AND FUMED. FUCKING AMERICANS. THEY THOUGHT THEY OWNED THE WORLD AND THAT THEIR “CHARMING” COLONIAL ATTITUDES GAVE THEM THE RIGHT TO BOTHER EVERYONE TO DEATH.

HE EVENTUALLY NODDED OFF TO SLEEP WHILE PLOTTING GRUESOME FIERY DEATHS FOR EVERY OTHER PASSENGER ON THE PLANE. HE DIDN’T ROUSE AGAIN UNTIL THE PLANE BOUNCED DOWN THE RUNWAY IN NEW YORK. LUCKILY, HE WAS ABLE TO KEEP HIS SEAT ON THE JET AS THEY REFUELED AND TOOK ON MORE PASSENGERS.

BY THE TIME THE PLANE LANDED IN QUEBEC, CHARLIE FELT LIKE SOMETHING APPROACHING A NORMAL HUMAN BEING AGAIN. HE SMILED HIS THANKS AT THE ATTENDANT WHO HAD MOVED HIM TO THE BACK OF THE CABIN AND TRIED NOT TO SMIRK WHEN SHE BLUSHED IN RETURN.

THE LINE FOR CUSTOMS WAS THANKFULLY SHORT AND HE SWEPT THROUGH IN RECORD TIME, THANKS TO THE DOCUMENTS SUPPLIED BY MARIANNE. IT WAS A WELCOME CHANGE FROM TOURING, WHERE THE SLIGHTEST GLIMPSE OF CERTAIN BAND MEMBERS WAS ENOUGH TO LAND THEM IN INTERVIEW ROOMS WITH SWEATY CUSTOMS OFFICIALS HUNGRY FOR A BIG DRUGS BUST.

WHEN HE REACHED THE BAGGAGE CLAIM AREA, THE CAROUSEL WAS JUST SPITTING OUT THE FIRST OF THE BAGS FROM HIS FLIGHT. HE PUSHED BETWEEN TWO LOL FATTIES AND GRABBED HIS AS IT SWUNG PAST.

OUT OF NOWHERE, A LARGE HAND COVERED HIS AND WRESTLED THE BAG AWAY.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

IT WAS A SHORT, THICKSET MAN WITH HUGE MUSCLES CORDING HIS NECK. STANDING WITH HIM WAS A TALL, CADAVEROUSLY THIN MAN WITH CRAZY-LOOKING DARK EYES.

“YOU’LL COME WITH US NOW, MR WATTS,” THE THIN MAN SAID. “THERE IS NOWHERE YOU CAN TURN; THERE IS NO WAY YOU CAN GO ON.”

AT LEAST, THAT'S WHAT HE THOUGHT THEY MEANT, ALTHOUGH HE'D NEVER HEARD OF THE BARRICADE HOTEL BEFORE.

AS JAVERT DROVE CAREFULLY THROUGH THE STREETS OF QUEBEC, CHARLIE WAS SURPRISED TO SEE HOW MUCH THINGS HAD CHANGED. GONE WERE THE CRUMBLING BUILDINGS, THE PILES OF TRASH AND BROKEN FURNITURE ON THE SIDEWALKS... EVEN THE ROVING BANDS OF QUEBECOIS SAVAGES, AS LIKELY TO KICK YOUR HEAD IN AS LOOK AT YOU, WERE MISSING. HE SMOOTHED DOWN HIS FRINGE -- THE WEB OF SCARS THAT EXTENDED UP INTO HIS HAIRLINE STILL TINGLED WHENEVER HE HEARD TRUMPETS.

VALJEAN WAS WATCHING HIM FROM THE FRONT SEAT. "THE SKY CLEARS AND THE WORLD IS WAKING. NEVER FORGET THE YEARS, THE WASTE, AMIRITE?"

"ER. RIGHT." WHAT THE HELL? "HOW MUCH FARTHER TO THE HOTEL?"

VALJEAN JUST SMILED AND TURNED TO LOOK OUT THE WINDSHIELD AGAIN.

CHARLIE SIGHED. CLEARLY THESE GUYS WEREN'T GOING TO BE MUCH HELP. HE CASUALLY PULLED MARIANNE'S FOLDER FROM HIS BAG AND OPENED IT. THE DOSSIERS ON VALJEAN AND JAVERT WERE RIGHT ON TOP AND HE QUICKLY SKIMMED THE CONTENTS. NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY, BUT NOTHING ALL THAT IMPRESSIVE EITHER. VALJEAN HAD SPENT A NUMBER OF YEARS AS AN UNDERCOVER COP IN QUEBEC'S VERSION OF THE MAFIA INVESTIGATION UNIT WHILE JAVERT SEEMED TO HAVE DEVOTED HIS CAREER TO BUSTING SMALL-TIME PETTY LARCENISTS.

AT THE BOTTOM OF JAVERT'S FILE, MARIANNE HAD SCRAWLED A SHORT NOTE: "I DON'T LIKE THE LOOK OF THIS GUY." CHARLIE COULDN'T HELP BUT AGREE. WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING? WAS THIS REALLY THE BEST HE COULD DO FOR NATIVE CONTACTS? THESE TWO WEREN'T EVEN NATIVES! THEY WERE OLD-SCHOOL FRANCE AT ITS WORST: UNCOMMUNICATIVE, UNMOTIVATED, AND SMELLING VAGUELY OF CHEESE GONE HORRIBLY WRONG.

AS THE CAR SLOWED TO TAKE A CORNER, JAVERT SPOKE FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE LEAVING THE AIRPORT. "EMPTY CHAIRS AND EMPTY TABLES," HE SAID AS HE FLAPPED A HAND TOWARD THE CAFE THEY WERE PASSING.