Johnny and The USed Wonz

by DaNeo Duran

  On the following Wednesday Barry picked his guitar up from Mr Evans’ music room. Turning round he came face to face with the older Barry. His grip immediately loosened on the guitar’s neck ready to drop it and attack.

  Fortunately the older lad spoke up. ‘It’s okay. I’m not gonna do owt.’

  ‘Oh.’ Barry readjusted his grip.

  ‘Let’s just say we was getting to know each other last time.’ He held out his hand to shake. ‘Peace?’

  Barry warily accepted the handshake. ‘Okay.’

  Feeling strange he put his hand in his pocket. His finger touched a condom but he resisted the urge to offer one so soon.

  His dad neither bought nor mentioned condoms again.

  Instead, just that morning Frank, wanting to help and having agreed that the trick would do his own reputation some good, had taken a deep breath and entered a pharmacy while Barry waited outside. Soon he’d emerged with an eighteen-pack of Durex condoms and a triumphant grin.

  ‘You’re a battler aren’t you?’ the older lad said.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘I hear you’re maybe getting expelled.’

  ‘I’m not. They’ve decided I should stay.’

  ‘Well that’s good – I guess. Come on let’s practice before we get to the stage.’

  * * *

  ‘Hey, here he is,’ Sonja said as the older lad held the classroom door for Barry. She smiled and put an arm round him. He blushed. To the group she said. ‘Let’s have a go at that song we were doing last week.’ She looked at Barry. ‘You got your plectrum?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He put his hand in his pocket, found the plectrum and with a nip of pocket lining allowed two condoms to fall to the floor.

  As he’d rehearsed he hurriedly grabbed them but Sonja spotted them.

  ‘What’s them?’

  ‘Nothing,’

  ‘Show me.’

  Barry opened his hand. ‘Johnnies. What d’you want with johnnies?’

  ‘I nick ’em for me brother.’ The other lads closed in. ‘You never know when you might need them.’

  ‘Not in your case,’ the older Barry said. ‘I never know when I’ll need them. Anyway who’s your brother?’

  ‘Frank Peters. You probably don’t know him.’

  ‘Frank? He’s in my geography class. So you’re Frank’s kid brother?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And he needs johnnies?’

  Barry shrugged. ‘I’ve got a few, have one if you want.’

  * * *

  The nickname Johnny took immediate hold amongst the older band members. As Barry progressed on the instrument the older guitarist willingly allowed him to take the more complex musical parts seeming to have little interest in developing himself.

  On breaks and lunches Barry would seek out his grown-up friends; Sonja claiming to find him cute whilst the older lads still tolerated him even after he’d given away the last of the condoms.

  At home his dad had lost his job but started another one in another town. The extra time taken by the thirty minute walk plus fifty minute train journey meant Barry and Frank took over all the cooking and housework. By way of non-verbal thanks Les paid for Barry’s martial arts gi.

  Barry had mentioned karate to one of his dad’s friends who’d guffawed insisting kung fu would serve him better.

  Indeed Barry later found this to be the case after joining a class. But the fracas he got into at school tended to involve headlocks and often ended up on the floor. With that in mind he joined yet another class and worked his way through the judo belts.

  Sunday 03rd June 1984

  After leaving Johnny’s motel, Linda had managed a couple of hours sleep on the plane back to LA. At 8am Pacific Time she pulled the Lotus into a diner and ordered the menu’s healthiest breakfast.

  Afterwards she read a few chapters of the novel she’d taken with her so she could hit her apartment at a realistic time. She didn’t want Dwight suspecting she’d not visited her mom.

  Sipping coffee she thought of Johnny; and then Dwight. She’d begun dating Dwight two months earlier; almost immediately after a terrible drama with her previous boyfriend. With her now ex-boyfriend, Earl in remand with a suitably high bail price she could have waited but Dwight had appeared; charming and happy to take things slowly.

  Linda couldn’t have coped with anything more following Earl but needed something to fill the void he left.

  Even before Earl’s arrest, Johnny had repeatedly and foolishly attempted to win her affections. He’d taken her last rejection to heart and though it must have hurt him he hardly commented when she’d started seeing Dwight.

  She had thought Dwight fitted the bill perfectly. He’d begun staying over at weekends but the previous day he’d kicked up an argument that escalated into unpleasantness yet to be resolved.

  Soon, too drowsy to care about Dwight’s suspicions she drove home. Five minutes later she pulled into her street but surprisingly saw no Dodge Ram lumped on her drive. Her heart quickened as she wished she’d told her mom to cover for her should Dwight check her whereabouts. Having not seen him all weekend she pondered whether he’d left her following the argument. She clicked the remote and the garage door lifted.

  In the hallway the answering machine blinked. Rewinding and pressing play she first heard her own message explaining that she’d not be home. She deleted it hating the sound of her own voice.

  Next, a message from Dwight: Hi Sexy, looks like I’ll be away a while. Got a job. Don’t get too excited it’s only temporary. See ya soon.

  Pressing delete she smiled. He hadn’t even been there to hear her message. For a moment she hoped he’d found another woman as well as a job. But looking around her hollow apartment she thought again. She didn’t even have a cat since Earl forced her to take her to her mom’s.

  Once showered and in comfy clothes she lay on the couch to watch TV. The familiarity of loneliness came over her as she rested both hands on her abdomen and cursed the ex-boyfriend that had broken her insides.

  Friday 21st September 1973

  Even with judo belts Barry felt his training lacked something; he didn’t feel tougher. But, a year after starting karate, he knew what he had to do.

  It took him weeks to pluck up courage. After school one night he walked to the edge of his council estate. From the safety of the working man’s club car park he watched rough looking lads with tracksuits and sports bags over their shoulders enter a vehicle repair workshop.

  He’d done this on three previous occasions but this time after twenty minutes he crept into the unlit garage avoiding tools and bits of cars that had been left around. The smell of spray paint conjured images of cars arriving in one colour with one set of registration plates and leaving with new plates and different paint job.

  From a crack of light around a far door he heard shouts, stamping feet and bags or faces getting pummelled. With a lung-full of oily fumes Barry pulled the door.

  Age thirteen he faced a view wholly different from any of his other sports. The door closed on the garage smells but left his nostrils with air, ripe with sweat from bare-chested men. Unlike the other martial classes which had no prejudice towards one’s state of health these guys had formidable physiques. Barry figured if he could survive here he could survive anywhere.

  Knowing he must look wide-eyed he consciously shut his gaping jaw. To his grateful surprise none of the fighters paid him heed.

  He saw two men wearing headgear sparring in a ring. Their jabs didn’t look too sharp but Barry knew the perspective would be different in the ring. Others sparred outside the ring or did bag or pad work. Some did such furious exercise steam rose from their T-shirts.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a ball-headed man in his thirties said.

  ‘I need to lean to box,’ Barry said pulling himself together.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you need to learn to box?’

  Barry didn’t respond; just stood still watching the man.

  ‘And why d’you
need to learn boxing?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I need more.’

  ‘More what exactly?’

  ‘More than karate, kung fu and judo.’

  The man did a sort of half laugh Barry couldn’t interpret. ‘Sounds like you have a lot already. D’you wanna get hurt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because you get in the ring with any of these lads and there’ll be pain.’

  Barry looked over to the ring.

  He could feel the man watching him. ‘That doesn’t scare yer? You don’t look so scared.’

  ‘Just standing here’s scary.’

  ‘You got a gumshield?’

  Of course he didn’t. ‘No.’

  ‘Never spar without one. That said I’ll be gentle. Follow me.’

  He followed the man to the changing area. With the others in view but out the way he handed Barry a pair of tatty sparring gloves.

  ‘Go ahead, put them on,’ the man said. ‘We’re just gonna do a little workout so I can get to know you. Sparring can be a real shock. You ready for a shock?’

  Barry felt like he’d have to be. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Okay. Keep listening to me and remember we’re sparring not fighting. We’re just getting to know each other.’

  The man’s voice had become gentler but he squared up to him.

  Barry first thought to adopt a kung fu stance but fell into karate which more closely matched the man who, with his superior reach tapped the right side of Barry’s jaw.

  As he did in karate Barry cried, ‘Hah!’ and made to punch the man’s jaw but hit thin air when the man tipped his face inches to one side.

  ‘Hah, Hah!’ Barry travelled two steps forward with punches hitting nothing; the man had sidestepped him.

  ‘Okay stop,’ the man said.

  Barry stopped.

  ‘I was just trying to demonstrate there that you gotta keep that jaw protected.’ They took position again. ‘Now stand still, this is just a demonstration.’

  The man gave a firm tap to his jaw. Barry stumbled sideways.

  ‘You see stars my friend?’

  He nodded.

  Soon Barry’s jaw took cover behind the sixteen ounce gloves but the man stepped around him knocking him down with punches never allowing Barry’s retorts to connect. The man turned up the pressure which for Barry confirmed what he already knew: he needed to learn this art.

  ‘How you doing?’ the man said.

  ‘Err, okay.’

  ‘You are that. Most kids your age would’ve run out the door by now.’

  Barry didn’t say anything.

  ‘How come you’re so tough?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Nobody spoke for a moment. ‘What’s yer name?’

  ‘Barry.’

  ‘Rhymes with mine, I’m Gary. Just how old are you?’

  He decided not to lie.

  ‘Thing is Barry, as it is the guys that come here are older and heavier than you. I can’t train you because putting you in the ring with any of this lot would be irresponsible of me.’

  Barry’s heart sank. ‘What am do I supposed to do?’

  Gary looked at him for the longest time. ‘If you can find someone your age you can train here together.’

  Monday 24th September 1973

  Barry took the weekend to consider Gary’s suggestion. Though his school had its share of battle seekers the few friends he had his own age had gentle natures plus he kept his quest to toughen up private.

  On Saturday he’d cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the downstairs before his dad woke from a drunken lie in.

  Later Les made a pot of tea and eyed the tidy kitchen with suspicion. ‘Are you after something?’

  ‘Yes, I need to learn to box.’

  He kept his eyes fixed on his dad should the boiling teapot suddenly come his way.

  Les put it down and said in a low voice, ‘Aye son. How much will it cost me?’

  ‘Not much, I’ll drop judo if you like.’

  ‘Nah, keep it up it’ll do ya good. I’ll stretch to the rest.’

  Barry rubbed the fresh bruise on his hip and watched the sorrowful man now sitting at the table.

  With courage he’d never find after his dad’s first beer he ventured, ‘You know why I need this don’t you?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said in a whisper. ‘Owt I can do to help, I’ll do.’

  ‘You can help me by helping yourself.’

  His dad looked up from the table locking eyes with him. ‘Don’t get cocky.’

  When nothing else followed Barry sighed and on request passed his dad his jacket and accepted the money he gave him.

  * * *

  First thing Monday Barry had PE. His class would team up with another third-year class: girls hockey, lads rugby.

  Having a comparatively lanky stature Barry generally found himself placed on the wing; a frustrating place as generally the ball would get passed down the line but swap directions travelling back the way it had come right before reaching him. He often managed an entire match without ever receiving the ball. That he didn’t get to show his metal probably contributed to his absence on the ’Who’s hardest?’ league table.

  His scrapes in the first and second years had been forgotten and Barry never spoke of the incidents with the older lads he hung out with win or lose.

  On the school fields Barry watched Flood. Ever since the first year of secondary school Flood, who lived on the other side of Barry’s council estate, had held the Who’s hardest? crown.

  With more body hair than a fifth year, Flood had towered above the other kids with solid bulk that matched his height. Since the first year Barry and some other kids had narrowed the gap in terms of size but none came close to taking his crown.

  Never one for the easy option Barry reckoned Flood would be an ideal sparring partner.

  But wherever the guy went an entourage of disciples would trail after him in rank order like a comet’s tail. So towards the end of Monday he hadn’t managed to catch Flood on his own.

  Instead he sat in Miss Wilkinson’s music class kicking himself for not speaking to the great Flood in PE. Inevitably that thought gave way to one of his predictable fantasies.

  This time he imagined the school aflame. Everyone would manage to escape except Miss Wilkinson who’d be trapped too weak from smoke inhalation to move. He’d storm past collapsing ceilings and burning tables to her side, scoop her off her feet and save the life she’d spend the rest of grateful to him for.

  After the final bell Barry saw Flood waiting three bus stands away. Unable to face breaking through his fans Barry let him go.

  Usually six or seven people got off the bus at Barry’s stop but today only one other person did.

  Barry didn’t normally talk to Greeny. The fourteen year old had the slightest height advantage but to Barry’s mind no history of fighting. Greeny listened and said he’d think about his proposal.

  Friday 28th September 1973

  By Friday Barry still had nobody to go to Gary’s gym with. He sat in his bedroom after school practicing the finger picking exercises Mr Evans had taught him.

  Greeny had declined his offer and hadn’t even been on the bus home to try again to persuade. He had found courage to talk to Flood but had been laughed at.

  Sometime later he heard a knock at the door. Not expecting anyone he let Frank answer it.

  ‘Barry,’ Frank shouted upstairs. ‘Greeny’s here for you.’

  Monday 04th June 1984

  Given that Linda had saved The USed Wonz’ second album Johnny pondered not confessing his poker table blunder to Stu.

  Unfortunately he needed to know whether anyone outside band and management knew that their English label, GMD had already given them the money for the next album’s recording sessions.

  On Monday morning acting on instruction Johnny reached the motel’s reception and picked up a message from the bad guys telling him where to meet with the cash.

  He stuck a K
ansas City street map in his back pocket just as Stu appeared from their bus dragging the yellow bag of sporting equipment that came out each day.

  ‘I’m heading into the city,’ Johnny said deciding to hold off his confession.

  ‘Now, we’re moving out soon?’ Stu pointed at the bag. ‘What about training?’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry I’ll explain everything. I’ll be back around midday.’

  * * *

  Before 10am Johnny stood in the sunshine on the roof of Truman Road’s multi-storey car park. Commuters having parked and left for work made it a suitably private location.

  Johnny’s teeth clenched as a gleaming Lincoln Continental approached. He didn’t move out its way and sure enough it halted twenty feet from him.

  He noted the Kansas number plate. Through the glass he recognised the two heavies both wearing the same black woollen hats despite the heat. The silver-haired guy who’d cheated him sat motionless in the back.

  The passenger door opened and one of the heavies got out and laid his black gloved hands on the door frame. ‘You got it?’

  ‘I’m not talking to you fat boy – only the guy,’ Johnny said.

  The heavy looked flummoxed but Silver’s window came down. ‘Well?’

  ‘Turns out our lousy manager’s dipped into the next record’s advance. I’m waiting for me mam to wire the deficit from her life savings in England.’

  The guy’s eyes narrowed. ‘How much you got now?’

  ‘I’ve not been to the bank yet,’ Johnny said. ‘Why – would you take what I can get now?’

  The heavy leaning on the door seemed restless whilst Silver gave it some thought.

  Suddenly Silver’s nostrils flared. ‘Get the lot. You got sixty minutes.’

  ‘Ninety minutes,’ Johnny said knowing Linda’s bank in LA wouldn’t be open yet.

  ‘Don’t push it.’

  ‘I can’t fly. I need ninety.’

  Silver’s window buzzed shut. The heavy got in and seconds later Johnny stood alone.

  He wrote the Lincoln’s licence details on his street map and set off for Citibank.

  Arriving thirty minutes later but with time to spare he found a diner and tried relaxing with a cup of tea.

  At 11am he went into Citibank and presented his passport and Linda’s letter of entitlement. Ten minutes later he jogged back to the multi-storey.

  Beating the Lincoln by three minutes he used the time to both calm down and limber up. Standing where he had earlier he draped his jacket on the nearest car. He’d started forming opinions about his enemy from their earlier meeting; enough to try a few things on for size.