Small Print by Ted Carter
Anyone looking to sum up the past present and future for Charlie Workman probably wouldn’t need to go further than any combination of bleak, bad and grim. He was a freelance journalist with no nose for a story which wasn’t already old news. For the past year he had been working on a novel about a dysenteric detective whose investigations were constantly interrupted by his various “emergencies” but was starting to think that its appeal might be limited. He was sitting in front of his screen waiting for inspiration, an idea, something – anything to strike when he noticed the telephone was ringing.
This was a rare occurrence.
“Hello?”
“In twenty seconds open your door. You have a visitor who doesn’t like to be kept waiting”
“What? Hello? Who is this? Hello?”
Aware that there was no one on the line Charlie put the ‘phone down and crossed to his door which he opened to be confronted by an enormous man who stepped aside to reveal a much smaller and older man. Charlie stood speechless as the older man stepped past him into the room saying,
“Come in”
Charlie was bemused.
“Look I don’t mean to be rude but who are you and what do you want?”
The giant cleared his throat and leaned down to glower at him which Charlie found frankly alarming. The old man held up his hand.
“It’s OK. Close the door and I’ll explain everything”
He turned and walked into the room and Charlie, having closed the door on the giant, followed. The old man sat in an armchair and gestured to Charlie that he should sit down. Which he did.
“Look; I don’t know who you are or what you want but…”
“This will be a lot easier if you stop asking questions. Now, you are a journalist and I have a story for you. A very big story”
Charlie could feel himself getting interested. Stories didn’t just drop into his lap which was why he didn’t write many of them
“Well I’m sure we can come to some arrangement”
The old man nodded.
“Good. Now what do you know about music?”
“Music? What do you…”
“You’re doing it again. Yes, music. Let’s say Buddy Holly, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. What do those names mean to you?”
“They were American”
“What else?”
“Er, they died?”
“Good. And how did they die?”
“Um, Buddy Holly was a plane crash. The other two… I don’t know…Hendrix was an overdose I think. No, didn’t he choke or something?”
The old man nodded again.
“Technically yes. Jim Morrison was supposed to have had a heart attack. But more precisely I killed them”
Great. A nutcase. Charlie got to his feet.
“I think I’ve heard enough”
The old man was unperturbed.
“No, you haven’t. I’m giving you a story bigger than Watergate. The least you can do is listen”
Charlie sat down again thinking if he just humoured the old fool he would eventually leave.
The old man watched him calmly
“Good. Now. Who would you like to hear about? John Bonham? Keith Moon? John Lennon? There are lots of others”
“And you killed them all?”
“Yes”
“You killed John Lennon?”
“Yes”
“Even though there’s a man in prison for killing him?”
“Yes. I was particularly pleased with that touch”
The old man sat back in the armchair.
“And why would a record company want to kill John Lennon?
“From memory it was something to do with CDs coming out and them wanting a boost to the sales”
“Right. Well Mr….”
“Maguire”
“Well, Mr.Maguire this has all been very interesting”
“But you don’t believe me”
“No. I don’t”
“Perfectly understandable but I do have proof which I’ll provide you”
Charlie wanted to get out of this.
“But even if you have this proof, I mean, why? Why would you do these things?”
Listen to me, he thought. I must be as mad as he is.
Maguire said simply.
“Contracts”
“Ah, you mean like a contract killer?”
“No. Like the contracts that they signed with their record companies”
Charlie was now getting amused.
“Right. So they signed their own death warrants?”
“No. They thought they would survive and another member of the band wouldn’t”
“This is insane! Why would a record company kill off their own artists?”
“To boost record sales”
“I see. And that was the best way they could think of was it?”
“Apparently”
Charlie was torn between disbelief and morbid curiosity.
Maguire watched him impassively and said,
“How many groups from the Fifties to the Eighties didn’t lose at lease one member?”
“Pink Floyd”
“Yes but they had that Barnett or Barrett or whatever he was called and he disappeared pretty quickly anyway. Besides they were college boys. Neither them or Genesis would sign”
“And everyone else did?”
“And everyone else did indeed”
“Why? Why would anyone sign a contract like that?”
“Increased royalties. Besides there was always a chance it wouldn’t happen”
“But some of the people you mentioned weren’t in a band. They were solo artists”
“Yes. They got even more increased royalties and solo artists weren’t usually at the same risk anyway”
“Why not?”
“Simple. Kill a drummer and a band can carry on. Kill a solo singer and all you’ve got is their back catalogue”
“Still seem to have been a few of them though”
“Oh, yes. Sometimes it was unavoidable”
“Right and every time you were the one they called were you?”
“Yes”
Charlie stood up again.
“Well thank you Mr.Maguire this has been fascinating”
“I won’t say this again, Mr. Workman. Please sit down”
Charlie sat down.
“Thank you. Now as I said I will provide you with irrefutable proof of what I’ve told you but I can see you still have some doubts”
“You could say that, yes”
“Right. Let’s try again. Doesn’t the attrition rate among musicians seem unusually high to you? Actors travel by air but they don’t crash that often do they?”
“That doesn’t mean you were responsible though does it?”
“All those overdoses?”
“But they could all have been accidental”
“Yes. They could. But they weren’t. As I’ve said several times; you will be given as much proof as you need”
“So you killed, I don’t know, let’s say…Ian Curtis did you?”
“Yes”
“Why? Joy Division were just getting popular”
“But I believe the group they formed without him were more popular”
“New Order?”
“If you say so”
Suddenly a light flashed inside Charlie’s head. He could write this nonsense up, take the old fool’s money and forget about the whole thing.
“OK, Mr.Maguire. I have three questions. One, why tell your story now? Two, why me and three, how much will you pay me?”
Maguire nodded appreciatively.
“All good questions. Why? Because I’m old and it’s time the world knew what happened. Why you? I like your name; it suggests diligence and has a certain resonance for me. Besides which this story is big enough that it doesn’t need a star reporter. How much? Name your price. Money is not important to me. Shall we say one million? Plus your royalties of course”
“A million?” Charlie felt faint.
“Why not? Do we have a deal?”
In a daze Charlie nodded.
“Good. Now I need you to sign this contract”
Charlie signed it.
Without reading the small print.
Image by Dafad Ddall Link: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/104049538/flickr?esource=en-us_photo_allsizes
This was a rare occurrence.
“Hello?”
“In twenty seconds open your door. You have a visitor who doesn’t like to be kept waiting”
“What? Hello? Who is this? Hello?”
Aware that there was no one on the line Charlie put the ‘phone down and crossed to his door which he opened to be confronted by an enormous man who stepped aside to reveal a much smaller and older man. Charlie stood speechless as the older man stepped past him into the room saying,
“Come in”
Charlie was bemused.
“Look I don’t mean to be rude but who are you and what do you want?”
The giant cleared his throat and leaned down to glower at him which Charlie found frankly alarming. The old man held up his hand.
“It’s OK. Close the door and I’ll explain everything”
He turned and walked into the room and Charlie, having closed the door on the giant, followed. The old man sat in an armchair and gestured to Charlie that he should sit down. Which he did.
“Look; I don’t know who you are or what you want but…”
“This will be a lot easier if you stop asking questions. Now, you are a journalist and I have a story for you. A very big story”
Charlie could feel himself getting interested. Stories didn’t just drop into his lap which was why he didn’t write many of them
“Well I’m sure we can come to some arrangement”
The old man nodded.
“Good. Now what do you know about music?”
“Music? What do you…”
“You’re doing it again. Yes, music. Let’s say Buddy Holly, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. What do those names mean to you?”
“They were American”
“What else?”
“Er, they died?”
“Good. And how did they die?”
“Um, Buddy Holly was a plane crash. The other two… I don’t know…Hendrix was an overdose I think. No, didn’t he choke or something?”
The old man nodded again.
“Technically yes. Jim Morrison was supposed to have had a heart attack. But more precisely I killed them”
Great. A nutcase. Charlie got to his feet.
“I think I’ve heard enough”
The old man was unperturbed.
“No, you haven’t. I’m giving you a story bigger than Watergate. The least you can do is listen”
Charlie sat down again thinking if he just humoured the old fool he would eventually leave.
The old man watched him calmly
“Good. Now. Who would you like to hear about? John Bonham? Keith Moon? John Lennon? There are lots of others”
“And you killed them all?”
“Yes”
“You killed John Lennon?”
“Yes”
“Even though there’s a man in prison for killing him?”
“Yes. I was particularly pleased with that touch”
The old man sat back in the armchair.
“And why would a record company want to kill John Lennon?
“From memory it was something to do with CDs coming out and them wanting a boost to the sales”
“Right. Well Mr….”
“Maguire”
“Well, Mr.Maguire this has all been very interesting”
“But you don’t believe me”
“No. I don’t”
“Perfectly understandable but I do have proof which I’ll provide you”
Charlie wanted to get out of this.
“But even if you have this proof, I mean, why? Why would you do these things?”
Listen to me, he thought. I must be as mad as he is.
Maguire said simply.
“Contracts”
“Ah, you mean like a contract killer?”
“No. Like the contracts that they signed with their record companies”
Charlie was now getting amused.
“Right. So they signed their own death warrants?”
“No. They thought they would survive and another member of the band wouldn’t”
“This is insane! Why would a record company kill off their own artists?”
“To boost record sales”
“I see. And that was the best way they could think of was it?”
“Apparently”
Charlie was torn between disbelief and morbid curiosity.
Maguire watched him impassively and said,
“How many groups from the Fifties to the Eighties didn’t lose at lease one member?”
“Pink Floyd”
“Yes but they had that Barnett or Barrett or whatever he was called and he disappeared pretty quickly anyway. Besides they were college boys. Neither them or Genesis would sign”
“And everyone else did?”
“And everyone else did indeed”
“Why? Why would anyone sign a contract like that?”
“Increased royalties. Besides there was always a chance it wouldn’t happen”
“But some of the people you mentioned weren’t in a band. They were solo artists”
“Yes. They got even more increased royalties and solo artists weren’t usually at the same risk anyway”
“Why not?”
“Simple. Kill a drummer and a band can carry on. Kill a solo singer and all you’ve got is their back catalogue”
“Still seem to have been a few of them though”
“Oh, yes. Sometimes it was unavoidable”
“Right and every time you were the one they called were you?”
“Yes”
Charlie stood up again.
“Well thank you Mr.Maguire this has been fascinating”
“I won’t say this again, Mr. Workman. Please sit down”
Charlie sat down.
“Thank you. Now as I said I will provide you with irrefutable proof of what I’ve told you but I can see you still have some doubts”
“You could say that, yes”
“Right. Let’s try again. Doesn’t the attrition rate among musicians seem unusually high to you? Actors travel by air but they don’t crash that often do they?”
“That doesn’t mean you were responsible though does it?”
“All those overdoses?”
“But they could all have been accidental”
“Yes. They could. But they weren’t. As I’ve said several times; you will be given as much proof as you need”
“So you killed, I don’t know, let’s say…Ian Curtis did you?”
“Yes”
“Why? Joy Division were just getting popular”
“But I believe the group they formed without him were more popular”
“New Order?”
“If you say so”
Suddenly a light flashed inside Charlie’s head. He could write this nonsense up, take the old fool’s money and forget about the whole thing.
“OK, Mr.Maguire. I have three questions. One, why tell your story now? Two, why me and three, how much will you pay me?”
Maguire nodded appreciatively.
“All good questions. Why? Because I’m old and it’s time the world knew what happened. Why you? I like your name; it suggests diligence and has a certain resonance for me. Besides which this story is big enough that it doesn’t need a star reporter. How much? Name your price. Money is not important to me. Shall we say one million? Plus your royalties of course”
“A million?” Charlie felt faint.
“Why not? Do we have a deal?”
In a daze Charlie nodded.
“Good. Now I need you to sign this contract”
Charlie signed it.
Without reading the small print.
Image by Dafad Ddall Link: http://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/104049538/flickr?esource=en-us_photo_allsizes
