“Yeah she’s downstairs,” Mickey said, taking a seat in the chair by her bed.
“Is she not coming up?” Jackie asked.
“No,” Mickey smiled. “You’re going downstairs.”
Jackie’s face brightened, “Am I being released?”
Mickey could see the excitement in her face at the potential good news. He wished he could simply and honestly nod and confirm this, but he couldn’t.
“Yeah apparently things are looking up,” Mickey said. “And it’s perfect timing, cause it’s your party is tonight.”
“Is it Friday already? I must have spent days sleeping. Poor Charlie must have been sat by my bed with me just asleep,” she said, still seeming drowsy. “I don’t feel as if I’ve seen him for days.”
“Who’s your doctor Jackie? I need to speak to him before we get you out of here,” Mickey said, wanting to steer the conversation a bit. He wasn’t sure if Charlie had been at the hospital at all over the last few days.
“It’s a nice man called Doctor Haig,” Jackie said, starting to look as if she was drifting off to sleep again. “I’m not sure where his office is though.”
Mickey put his hand on hers. “It’s alright, Jackie, you get some shut eye, you’ll need it. I'll find the doctor, and be back in a mo.”
It didn’t take Mickey and Seamus long to find Haig’s office; there was a large oak door at the end of the corridor on with his name on a plaque outside. Mickey knocked on the door and a man wearing a white medical coat opened it.
“Yes.”
“Doctor Haig?” Mickey answered.
“Yes?” Haig replied.
“We need some of your time,” Mickey said, trying to peer inside the doctor’s office.
The doctor now looked at the two men nervously. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
“No,” Mickey said, kicking the door open.
The force of the kick knocked the doctor off his feet and onto the floor; he was just getting to his feet in time to see Seamus follow Mickey into the room and lock the office door behind him.
“Is this some kind of robbery?” Haig asked nervously.
Mickey looked across at the large leather chair, behind the doctor’s expensive looking desk. “Do you mind if I,” Mickey said, gesturing towards the seat.
The doctor shrugged, not sure how to respond.
“Thanks,” Mickey said sitting down in the chair. He tried the different buttons on the leather seat and reclined to a position he found most comfortable. “This is a damn good chair, Doc.”
“Oh my God! This is a robbery?” asked Dr Haig, looking at the former champion boxer, who was now stood with his arms folded in front of the door. “I have a Range Rover outside it’s got to be worth at least…”
“I got one too. What’s your model?” Seamus asked keenly.
The doctor stared in surprise at Seamus. “Err… The Vogue, four point four litre,” he stammered.
“Really,” Seamus looking disappointed. “I got a Sport.”
“They’re largely the same cars these days.” The doctor said, sweating. “One’s just got a body kit on.”
“I told you to get the fucking Vogue,” Mickey said, chipping in. “I tried to tell him Doc; one suggests class the other no bloody class.”
“But, I like the body kit,” Seamus shrugged.
“Titt. Now doctor take a seat; time is of the essence for us,” Mickey said, inviting Haig to take a seat in front of the desk that he had commandeered.
The doctor glanced at the door. He couldn’t hide concern on his face as he took a seat in front of Mickey.
“We’re here to make a withdrawal,” Mickey said.
“A withdrawal?” Haig asked.
“Yes, I’m here representing Charlie O'Neil, and he needs his wife out for the weekend, so she can go to her party,” Mickey said, adjusting his seat backwards again. “It’s only for the weekend, but of course I need to unplug all those wires and shit for us.”
The doctor looked disgusted. “You’re joking?”
Mickey adjusted the seat and leant forward onto the desk, trying to give himself a more formal posture. When he had already asked for something the first time, he was not used to having to ask again.
“Now doctor, I’m going to let that last comment slide, because Mr. O’Neil said you’re the best money can get. I mean, I wouldn’t want to hurt those delicate hands of yours. I’ll tell you something though, I didn’t come here to tell jokes, and I’m going to try and not be offended by the suggestion.”
Haig moved nervously in his seat and wiped some sweat away for his brow. “Sir, I don’t know who you are…” he began.
“I tell ya, he tells jokes,” Mickey said nodding towards Seamus. “But they’re all fucking shit. Now let’s start again. I’m Mickey.”
“Right well, Mickey, Mrs. O’Neil is seriously ill. You can’t just take the lady out of here on my say so, as if that will make it ok.”
“Sure we can,” Mickey replied.
“No you can’t!” Haig snapped, his professional integrity overtaking his fear. “Mrs. O’Neil needs every machine that her body is currently connected to. If you are here representing Mr. O’Neil you can tell him that. And maybe if he actually returned my calls, I’d be able to tell him every detail about Mrs. O’Neil’s illness myself. If he had done this before now, he would not send some heavies down to break her out as if she was in a prison!”
Mickey didn’t react to this outburst. He was well used to provoking emotional reactions in people; he understood the best way to stay in control was to ignore the emotion and keep calm.
Mickey coolly looked back at Haig. Emotion was human nature’s way of influencing people in the most dire of situations; even the most hardened influencers can be moved by the tactic. This was why Mickey trained himself to switch off when he heard the familiar vocal change that signalled a charge of emotion.
“I mean really,” Haig said begin to calm. “If you took Mrs. O’Neil out of hospital today, she would need a highly skilled doctor to accompany her at all times to keep her under observation.”
Mickey smiled—bang! Every time, you let the emotion dry out, listen to the words and look for your hook. “A highly skilled doctor like you?”
“Yes exactly,” Haig snapped, thinking he’d made his point.
Mickey reached into his pocket, took out a wad of notes and flicked through them—about five grand. He tossed the notes onto the desk.
“That’ll buy you for the weekend, wouldn’t it?” Mickey asked.
The doctor scowled at the pound notes on his desk and shook his head. “I wasn’t being serious.”
“I was,” Mickey replied coldly.
“What you’re asking is ridiculous,” Haig said, finding it hard not to glance at the notes.
“Of course, a fella like me always looks for the best option, so to speak, when I’m looking to convince someone to do something,” Mickey said, looking right into Haig’s eyes, showing his strength of character. “And I’m thinking, you’re far too clever a chap to find out what another option to convince you might involve.”
“You’re serious?” the doctor replied.
Mickey’s face hardened. The doctor looked back at the notes on the desk. His brow was now wet with sweat again.
“This is ridiculous!" Haig shouted. “Fine! But I’m going to need access to some very particular medication for Mrs O’Neil; otherwise even with me accompanying her, she’d be in a very bad way.”
“I can get access to whatever you think will be best to return her to some form of normal for a couple of days,” Mickey replied. “And you should know one last thing; as far as anyone else is concerned, including Jackie herself, she’s been allowed out for the weekend, cause she’s medically able to.”
“You want me to break my medical oaths and lie as well?”
“It would save Seamus, over there, from breaking your medical bones.”
“Hey Mick,” Seamus said. “Maybe we could t
ake the doctor’s car back to Mr. O’Neil’s? I’d be interested to see how it handles.”
Mickey looked back at the younger man. “I don’t think so Seamus.”
Within the hour, Mickey was walking down the stairs, with his arms open and a proud smile, towards his wife. Dawn was stood at the bottom of the stairs, with her hands on her hips, angry due to the wait.
“She’s just coming baby.”
Dawn glared up at him. “You’ve been ages Mickey, and I’ve been waiting down here for bloody hours!”
Mickey gave her hug and a kiss. “Your friend’s just coming, then you can have a nice girly day, with a good party at the end of it.”
“Don’t try your stupid psychologist talk on me, Mickey. It won’t work. I’ve been down here all this time surrounded by all these sick people; I have been subjected to some dreadful images!”
“Dawn you did insist on coming, and you know what these hospitals can be like—all paperwork and red tape,” Mickey said.
Dawn was about to argue her case further when Jackie appeared around the corner in a wheelchair, pushed by Seamus and flanked by Haig.
“Dawn!” Jackie shouted out, the moment she saw her friend.
“Jackie!” Dawn ran up to her friend, giving her a big hug. “God Jack, you’re not stuck in this for the party are you?”
“God no,” Jackie said and stood up. “The doctor just wanted to wheel me down here; he said I might not be that easy on my feet. You know what they’re like.”
Haig looked at Mickey and shook his head.
“The doctor is going to have to be on hand all day, Dawn. So when we get to Charlie and Jackie’s, perhaps set him up on the sofa with a good film or something,” Mickey said, ignoring the glare from Haig.
“I thought you were staying with us?” Dawn replied.
“No, we got to make sure the band is set for the big show tonight,” Mickey smiled in Jackie’s direction.
“Wild n’ Weird?” Jackie asked quietly.
“You didn’t think Charlie was going to let you down did you?” Mickey smiled.
“Oh my God!” Jackie shouted, grabbing Dawn for another hug.
Chapter Fifty - Ronny Wild
Ronny walked into Fame’s studio, all the boys were there, it was strange to think only yesterday he had been in Fame’s office giving him the idea to get Wild n’ Weird back together. Hats off to Fame he didn’t mess about, all done within hours.
“Guys!” Wild shouted, thrusting his arms into the air like a footballer who had just scored the winning goal in the World Cup Final. “We’re all here. You all got here so quickly! This is great!”
Wild looked around the studio. The old queen Crossbones was sat behind the skins, grinning like a loon, just like he did in the old days. Mohican was stood on top of his amp, with his punkish hair almost touching the ceiling of the studio, the stupid mad punk. Wild grinned.
Nails was stood in the corner of the studio, his guitar strapped so loosely around him, he had to hold the guitar’s neck so strongly that he might as well not be wearing a strap. This of course enabled him to lift it into an iconic position, when delivering his renowned solos. He was still a complete junkie, just like the old days. Just like the good old days, Wild thought—this is so great! The lead singer looked at Nail’s impossibly dilated pupils.
His eyes then fell on Steve ‘Weird’ Peters. Unlike Nails’ guitar, his guitar was strapped tightly to his stomach; it needed no holding in position to sit effortlessly in place, waiting to be strummed. Peters—ever the true muso—and still pissed off with me, I see, Wild thought, looking at the frown on Weird’s face. The frown was, without doubt, the result of his arrival.
“You decided to show then,” Weird said, seemingly annoyed.
“Hey, I arranged this, I made it happen.” Wild grinned back.
“What are you talking about?” Weird replied.
“I told you man, Ronny wouldn’t let us down,” Neil said, winking at Wild.
“Of course not Neil,” Wild said, given the junkie a nod. “How are things with you?”
“I’m flying man,” Nails said, spreading his wings like an airplane.
Wild smiled, “Still mashed then.”
“There’s no need for that Wild,” Weird snapped. “I knew it was a bad idea inviting you back.”
“What? I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Wild replied.
“At least Neil’s here!” Crossbones said, pointing an accusing drumstick at Wild. “I don’t remember him ever walking out on us?”
Wild shot an angry look at Crossbones; he’d expected this type of reception from Weird but not Crossbones. “Really? Is that why you wanted to sack him half way through our Locked in A Cage Tour?”
Wild knew he was sticking the knife in by saying this. It was a private conversation that he was referring to, between him and the drummer, and best kept so. But a dig deserved a dig back.
“You bitch. That's not true!” Crossbones lied.
Nails even in his drugged state looked hurt. “Hey, Dave wouldn’t want to sack me.”
Weird shook his head. “This is great Wild! You turn up, and it all goes up in flames straight away.”
Wild looked back at the door to the studio he’d just walked through. “I walked away from my solo career for this?”
Mohican jumped off his amplifier, storming towards Wild, his face full of anger. “Walked away from your fucking solo career? You think we fucking believe that? You were dumped by your record company; they only kept you on for a second album because you paid for it!”
Wild stepped backwards in shock; how the hell did he bloody know that?
“Mo! I told you that in confidence!” Crossbones shouted, from behind his drum set.
Fame! Wild thought and he looked back at the studio door. He hadn’t signed up for this rubbish; he was just here to try and make himself great again—to re-launch his career.
He took a step towards the door and was about to storm out. But then he remembered the radio show he’d had to endure, and then the two demoralising recent visits to Max Fame’s office. He couldn’t let such things happen again.
“Guys, I have spent so much of my life being a wanker. This is when I was at my best, when I was with you,” Ronny said, not daring to look around at the rest of the band.
“As usual all the attention has to be on you!” Weird snapped.
Ronny looked at the door; this was over before it begun, Wild thought and started to walk away from the band again.
“Where you bloody going? We need our singer if we’re going back on tour!” Weird said.
Chapter Fifty One - Mickey the Bag
Mickey hated admitting when Fame was right, but this one time, he certainly was. Mickey had been listening to Wild n’ Weird practise for fifteen minutes now and they were good. He was sat in the recording studio, next to Seamus and Fame, watching the band perform on the other side of the glass window. There was no way though he was going to let on that he liked them; but it was taking all his will power not to tap his feet to the beat.
“I thought they were meant to hate each other?” Mickey said, wishing Fame’s job of keeping the band together for the next few hours had been just a little more difficult.
“They do,” Fame grinned. “That’s what gives many of the truly great bands their musical edge.”
“They’re not bad, are they Mick,” Seamus said, rocking his head to the music.
“I’ve heard better,” Mickey shrugged. “They’re not really my musical taste.”
“I tell you what; you might have done me the biggest ever favour by getting these guys back together. I’m going to have the phone ringing off the hook if they keep playing like this!” Fame said excitedly.
Mickey eyed the showbiz manager for a moment. The man’s eyes were looking glassy as he watched Wild n’ Weird strut their stuff, he actually looked as if he may well break into tears at any moment. Impending pound notes clearly got his emotions going.
“Mic
key I’ve been thinking about what you asked me a few days ago,” Seamus said. “You know, about where I want to be in five years.”
Oh no, Mickey thought, here it comes confirmation of my failure to bring the man on board. Fame has finally won; this was the final nail in the coffin—seeing these old bastards getting back together and all the rock ‘n roll bullshit that goes with it. He’s finally going to admit he wants to go and work with Max Fame.
“Go on,” Micky replied.
“I want to try and do what you do, you know, be a boss in Mr. O’Neil’s firm,” Seamus said. “I know it will take some time—probably a lot more than five years—but that’s what I want to do.”
Mickey smiled back at him, at last he might become mouldable, he thought. But more importantly, Mickey knew he had won. Fame had been subtly trying to impress Seamus all week with the benefits a life in showbiz gave, but it had counted for nothing. Nothing, that is, against a master influencer like Mickey.
Mickey looked across at Fame, hoping he’d registered Mickey’s victory, but he hadn't. He was still watching Wild n’ Weird, awe struck.
Mickey started to let his mind wander towards some empowerment opportunities he could push in Seamus’s direction; perhaps he could have his own group of businesses to look after? Or he could become Mickey’s official driver?
But his mind was quickly taken away from reviewing Seamus’ future by his mobile phone ringing. He quickly grabbed it from his pocket. His phone hardly ever rang; the only people who had his number were serious contacts, people who only phoned when a telephone conversation was absolutely necessary. It had been one of O’Neil’s strictest rules.
Mobile phones, Mickey knew, were your potential enemy. They could lead to significant difficulties, if your number got into the wrong hands, and that you could never be sure who could be listening in. In the late nineties, a policy of complete non use of mobile phones was put in force, which was kept in place even into the early part of the noughties, when the world could still be operated through pay phones and word of mouth. The last few years were different though; the thought of not carrying a mobile phone was implausible. The nature of their business meant that some people must always be able to make contact—but this only applied to serious people.
Serious People Page 33