Career Opportunities (A Joe Geraghty story)

ONE – 1.30PM

I was sat on an amplifier in the band’s rehearsal room on Wincolmlee, secreted away on Bankside, a decaying industrial area of Hull. In front of me was the city’s hottest band, Witham, presumably named after the area on the edge of the city centre. Talk about a lack of imagination. From the way they were lounging around the room, I assumed I was meant to be impressed. I smiled politely and asked what I could do for them.

‘Steve Hollins.’ The man stood up and offered me his hand. ‘We need your help.’ He was a short, fat man, in his mid-thirties. The manager. ‘We’ve got a problem and we haven’t got long to sort it out.’

I nodded, encouraging him to continue. My partner, Don Ridley, had taken the initial call.  Together we ran a small private investigation office in the city. People only contacted us when they had problems.

‘I assume you know all about these guys?’ Hollins asked me.

I nodded vaguely but my interest in the band’s music was limited. Everybody knew they were the biggest music sensation since the Arctic Monkeys. I’d heard the breakthrough singles and even bought the debut album. The music press had hailed it as the first classic of the 21st century but it sounded like a case of the emperor’s new clothes to me. The hits chugged along nicely enough but the rest of the album was padded out with filler. My music of choice is punk and ska; music which stands for something. The transparency of Witham didn’t really do it for me.

 ‘It’s been a rollercoaster’ he explained. ‘It’s been what, eighteen months?’ He looked for confirmation from the band. One of them eventually nodded. ‘When I first saw the band, they were playing the country’s toilet venues and releasing badly recorded demos onto the Internet.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘But I heard something in them and to cut a long story short, I got them a proper deal. The single took off and the album was last year’s biggest seller. Amazing really, how the public can take a band to their hearts.’

Everything seemed to be a dream for them. I smiled. ‘So what can I do for you?’

‘The boys have just finished recording the new album and it’s even better than the first, I can tell you.’ The room fell silent. All eyes were on me. Hollins cleared his throat. ‘The master-tapes have been stolen.’

‘Stolen?’

‘That’s right. Obviously there’s no end of people who’d pay an awful lot of money to get their hands on them. If we’re not careful, they’ll be leaked onto the Internet before we know it.’

And people will be downloading them for free, I thought. I understood the problem.

‘It’s a fucking nightmare’ said one of the band. I couldn’t see which one it was through the darkness at the back of the room. ‘And them cunts release their new record tomorrow.’

I looked at Hollins. ‘Them cunts?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He explained that the band’s arch-rivals were releasing their new album tomorrow. It’d been a race between them to get their follow-up records out, but they’d lost. ‘It’s not a race. It’s about getting right’ Hollins explained.

‘A bit like Oasis and Blur?’ I suggested ‘or The Beatles and The Stones?’

‘The important thing is we need those masters back, or we’ve wasted six months hard work.’ He stood up and circled the room. ‘There’s a complication.’

There’s always a complication. I waited for him to explain.

‘We fly off to America shortly, so we need them back by tomorrow.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘I’m afraid so. Unfortunately, the media have got wind of the situation. To settle things down, I’ve arranged a press conference for tomorrow lunchtime, at which I hope you can hand the masters over to us.’

I had less than 24 hours to locate them. Don and I were good at our job but it was a big ask. Before I had chance to ask how on earth I was supposed to do this, Hollins walked across the room and sat down next to me.

‘Don’t look so worried, Joe. I can tell you exactly who has them.’

TWO – 3PM

I leant back in my chair and took a mouthful of coffee. ’24 hours’ I said to Don. I was sat in our office, tucked away on High Street, on the edge of the city centre.

‘Not much time, then’ said Don, looking at the clock.

I’d explained to him about the press conference and the band flying to out to America.  I also told him who Hollis believed had the master-tapes. ‘Jon Starkey was the band’s drummer’ I explained. ‘It’s been kept private so far but he’s out of the band.  Up to that point, Starkey had been living in the same house as the rest of the band but he’s moved out to live with his girlfriend.’ After listening to Hollins, the house sounded more like it was a squat, with people coming and going at all hours.

Don nodded. ‘Will there be an announcement about the drummer at the press conference?’

Hollins had told me it was a possibility. Our presence was to act as good news, to show that things were moving forward.

I carried on. ‘The master-tapes were being held by the band until they could hand them over to the record label. They were in the house, tucked away in an underwear drawer. I assume Hollins didn’t want them left at the studio in case the producer went all Phil Spector on them.’ Don looked puzzled, so I told him to Google Phil Spector and John Lennon and read about their recording session in the mid-1970s. Spector had taken exception to Lennon and disappeared with the master-tapes, holding them to ransom, before eventually handing them back. Don wasn’t as interested as me in the stories and myths music throws up. He asked if Starkey had access to a key for the house.

I confirmed he did.

‘And a motive’ said Don, nodding his head.

‘It would appear so.’

‘What’s the real reason Starkey was sacked? I assume they’re going with musical differences?’

I laughed. The classic fall-back. ‘Hollins said he was hitting the bottle too heavily; couldn’t do his job properly anymore. He had to be sacked; no further warnings but they don’t want to make a fuss.’ I shrugged. ‘For old time’s sake. They think he’s got enough to deal with, without it becoming a more formal investigation.’

‘So the theory is he used his key to the house, took the master-tapes and now he’s holding them to ransom?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Has he contacted them yet?’

I shook my head. ‘The band only realised they were missing a few days ago and they don’t want to antagonise him. Presumably there’ll be a legal battle over a financial settlement, anyway, if he’s left the band. Hollins said he’d been trying to contact him, but no luck.’ 

‘So how has it blown up with the press?’

‘Some music journalist got word through an Internet forum and contacted Hollins. The plan is for us to get them back and have them handed over at tomorrow’s press conference. Because there’s so much interest in the band, their record label is shitting bricks that their investment is down the pan. They’ve got to be seen to be doing something. Worst case scenario, they can say they’ve got us on the job and it’s all in hand.’

‘And if we fail?’

We needed the work, so some good publicity wouldn’t go amiss. ‘Let’s not think about that’ I said eventually.

Don shook his head. He kept our books and records, so he knew what the financial picture was like. He passed me a pile of paper. ‘I’ve been doing some research.’

Glancing through the information, much of it I already knew. I knew the local Hull boys made good story. When I reached the final sheet, I learnt something I didn’t know.

‘They had a local manager before they made it big?’

Don nodded. ‘Mark Harrison. From what I can gather from his website, he started out managing the band when he was a student, as a favour to his mates, booking them their first gigs around the city.’

I glanced through the information. Reading between the lines, Harrison had been elbowed out of the picture. Steve Hollins had come sniffing once the band’s self-funded debut single had been critically acclaimed by the music press. Promising to open doors for them that were well beyond Harrison’s scope of influence, he took charge of the band’s affairs.

‘Presumably he’s pretty bitter’ I said, passing the sheets back to Don.

‘Would he have the opportunity to get his hands on the master-tapes?’

A good question. I didn’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had access to the house.

‘Might be worth bearing in mind’ said Don, looking at the clock. ‘Especially if the drummer can’t be found.’

THREE – 4.30PM

I released the letterbox and painfully eased myself back into a standing position. I’d played professional rugby league for Hull Kingston Rovers before my knee collapsed underneath me during one game. After only a handful of games as a teenager, my once promising sports career was over. The doctors said I was lucky to be walking with only occasional minor discomfort.

‘Help you, mate?’ the man asked me again.

He was probably still a teenager, but he had no problem standing his ground. I was stood outside an anonymous terraced house, off Newland Avenue, where the city’s students traditionally congregated.

‘I’m looking for John Starkey. I was told he was living here with his girlfriend.

‘What’s it to you?’

I took a business card out of my wallet and passed it over. ‘I need to speak to him.’

‘In trouble is he?’

‘Not necessarily. Do you know him?’

‘I know him. My band used to play with them sometimes.’

I groaned inwardly.

‘Even though they were shit, they got the break. That’s the way it goes sometimes, isn’t it?’ he continued. ‘Set of wankers, too. Once they signed a record deal, they thought they were the new Beatles, know what I mean? He looked at my card. ‘John was alright, though. He’s the only one who’s remained normal.’

I nodded sympathetically and tried to move the conversation on. ‘How about his girlfriend, do you know her?’

‘Lived next door to her for a while now. We get on pretty well. Not seen her a few days, though.’

‘No sign of John either?’

‘No.’

I thanked him and headed for my car. Starkey was missing. I got in, closed the door and stared at the house for a few moments, wondering what my next move was going to be, now the easy option had disappeared.

The clock was ticking but I spent the next or hour or so in the pub mulling over what I’d learnt from my chat with Starkey’s neighbour. Sarah had rung me with an update. Sarah is Don’s daughter and helps us on a part-time basis. At first her involvement was limited to helping us with administration but more recently she’d been helping with investigations. I was sat in Dukes, one of Princes Avenue’s more pleasant bars, waiting for Mark Harrison, Witham’s first manager to arrive. I sat at the table with a photocopy of his photograph we’d found on the Internet, staring at people as they walked in. Spotting him, I got the drinks in and we sat down.

‘How did you become the band’s manager?’ I asked, breaking the ice.

‘I met them when I was at university. I had some friends who played gigs around Hull and sometimes they played the same gigs. It’s quite a small scene, you know?’

I nodded. Although I didn’t often go to gigs anymore, it had been the same twenty or so years ago when I had done. The pubs and clubs might change their names, but many of them were still the same places I went to all those years ago. I told him about the punk bands I’d seen in the city and though the likes of The Sex Pistols or The Clash never made it to Hull, he seemed impressed enough.

Harrison continued. ‘They were really good right from the start’ he explained. ‘Anybody could hear it from the first demos they recorded. Often demos all sound the same; all badly produced and as flat as a pancake. Unsigned bands are usually unsigned for a reason, but with them it was different.’

‘How did you actually convince them to let you become their manager, then?’ I asked.

‘I just asked them. Like most bands, they couldn’t really be arsed to sort out their gigs and all the boring stuff, so I volunteered.’

‘And it went alright for a while?’

‘Really good.’ He nodded. ‘I got the band their first record deal. They released a limited-edition 7” single, which just took off after some radio play. Because there were so few copies, it sold out almost immediately, so it just fed the hype. Copies still go for over £100 on eBay.’

I’d read the biography on the website. ‘And then they moved record labels?’

Harrison nodded. ‘The big boys came in for them. And with them came Steve Hollins.’

‘Did he buy them out of their contract with you?’

He shook his head. ‘There was no contract. We just carried on as we were, with me taking my 20% on the gigs.’ He shrugged. ‘I was a sitting duck, I suppose.’ He lent in closer to me. ‘What can you do? I was a bit naïve not to have a contract and I paid the price and moved on, found another band and got on with things.’ He sat back in his chair and laughed. ‘Hollins said he always make sure I was sorted for tickets for their gigs. Sorted for tickets? Can you believe that? After all I’d done for them.’ He stopped laughing and looked directly at me. ‘Hollins is a piece of shit.’

After all he’d just said, his bitterness took me by surprise, not that he didn’t have good reason.

‘Have you heard about the new album?’ he asked me.

I sat forward, wondering what he knew about the missing masters. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I was at John’s house a few nights ago, listening to it. John had the masters. It’s probably going to sound bitter but it’s terrible. Absolute dog shit. The first album had so much life and urgency in it. It sounded like a band who desperate to make it, you know what I mean?’

I nodded. ‘Like Oasis?’I’d been a big fan of their debut album, but the follow-up had sounded like dull stadium rock to me.

Talking about music enthused Harrison. ‘Exactly’ he said. ‘That rawness, that feeling that it meant something.’

I nodded my agreement and gently steered him back to what I wanted to talk about.

‘Did John invite you round to have a listen?’

‘I used to live there with them. John was the one who stood his ground whenHollinscame on the scene. I just pop in for a drink if I know he’s going to be there. I didn’t realise they’d finished working on the album, because the last I heard, they were having real problems with it.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It wasn’t considered to be up to scratch.’

‘Who by?’

Harrison shrugged. ‘Everybody. Rumours here and there, so I assume their label wouldn’t be impressed.  In fact, I wouldn’t blame them. Like I said, it’s dog shit.’
I considered what Mark Harrison was telling me. He was bitter but still friends with John Starkey. He’d confirmed that Starkey had access to the master-tapes and he had even been in the room with them. How difficult would it be to steal them off a drunk? If he used to live in the house with the band, I was willing to bet he still had a key.

‘Are you going to the Adelphi tonight?’ he asked me.

‘What?’

‘The secretgig?’

I hadn’t read anything about a gig in Hull, nor had Steve Hollins or the band mentioned it to me. Harrison explained that two of the band would be playing a semi-secret acoustic gig to showcase some of the new material. Apparently the details were on their MySpace page. He was going because his new band was on the support bill. I decided to give Neil Ellis, a journalist I knew, a call.

FOUR – 6.30PM

Samantha Major had rung me and introduced herself as John Starkey’s girlfriend. She told me her neighbour had called her straight after I’d left her house. Once I’d calmed her down and told her who I was, she had agreed to meet me. She told me there’s a bench outside the library she would be in and I was to meet her there. It was still warm enough to feel comfortable sitting outside. I had no idea what she looked like but she had no difficulty in spotting me. I felt like I stood out like a sore thumb.

She came straight to the point. ‘What do you want?’

I explained that I needed to speak to John.

‘Is he in trouble?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘Not really.’ I’m not a physically imposing person but I didn’t want to scare her. I explained that the band thought he had the master-tapes and they just wanted them back.

‘I’ve not heard from him from days.’ She started to cry.

I fumbled around in my pockets for a tissue. ‘Is the sacking definite?’I asked.

‘I don’t know.’

I thought about the way they had tossed Mark Harrison aside when he’d outlived his purpose.

‘How’s John been recently?’ I asked.

‘How do you mean?’

‘In himself?’ I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. ‘Drinking?’

She looked up at me. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I understand he’s got a problem.’

‘Who told you?’

‘It’s not important.’

‘Hollins?’

 I didn’t answer but she took my silence as confirmation.

‘The man’s a wanker’ she continued. ‘Look; John needs help. I’ve tried but he won’t listen to me.’

‘I guess its stressful being in the band.’

She laughed. ‘What would you know about it?’

I had to agree that I didn’t really know anything about it. Playing professional rugby had been stressful enough, but she was right, I had nothing to rival her experience.
He’s losing the plot and I don’t know how to help him.’

 ‘It’s the constant touring’ she explained. ‘The band are rarely in Hull anymore, and I’ve got my studies to think about. If they’re not playing gigs, they’re in London recording or doing interviews. It’s tough to keep a relationship going.’ She looked at me. ‘I don’t even think about the girls he meets.’ She turned away again. ‘There’s a never ending line of slags willing to throw themselves at them.’

‘It must be a change from when Mark looked after the band?’

She laughed. ‘Mark had them trained like a platoon. He always had them gigging somewhere or other. It’s the intensity of it now.’

‘I thought Mark was a well intentioned amateur?’

‘Not really…well, sort of. He couldn’t open certain doors for the band, but he put a huge effort into them and was very serious about it all. I know John was upset when the rest of the band decided they wanted Hollins to manage them instead.’

‘It hit Mark hard?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘It meant as much to him as it did to the band. They were a gang. The usual male bollocks – them against the rest of the world. He’s probably still John’s best friend, despite what’s happened. It’s all got too much for him, not that he’d admit it.’ She turned away from me. ‘I don’t feel like I really know him, or what he’s capable of doing anymore.’

It sounded like he was in a bit of a mess. ‘Are you going to the gig tonight?’ I asked her.
She looked at her watch and said there was no chance of going out. She had a part-time job in a local pub and her shift started in thirty minutes time. I stood up and promised her I’d be in touch if I heard from John. As I walked back to my car, I thought more seriously about Mark Harrison’s involvement with the band and his friendship with increasingly unstable Starkey. The way Hollins and the band had pushed Harrison aside had presumably cost him a substantial amount of money and golden tickets don’t come along every day. Both Harrison and Starkey had been used and discarded but how far would they be willing to go for revenge?

FIVE 9PM

An hour later and I was sat in The Queens Hotel on Princes Avenue, close to the Adelphi, with Neil Ellis. ‘Cheers’ I said, passing the drinks over.

Ellis raised his glass and looked at me, still suspicious.

I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it. You’ll get your story.’

‘But I have to go in that shit-hole to get it.’

He had a point. The Adelphi was very much like marmite; you either loved or hated the place. I’d seen countless bands play there over the last twenty years or so, many of them on the insistence of my late wife. Some of them had gone on to become household names but many hadn’t.

He’d been upset when I’d told him about the press conference the band were planning to hold tomorrow. Clearly, the local paper hadn’t been invited. It was strictly music press and major players only. It was unfair on Neil, as I knew he was a good journalist. Previously, he’d worked for the nationals before heading to Hull for reasons I’d not yet got the bottom of. Running a private investigation bureau meant I often needed good quality information and we’d built a mutually beneficial relationship. I finished my lager and nodded to Ellis. ‘Let's go get you a story.’

Crammed like cattle into the terrace house-turned-music venue, I fought for enough room to reach into my pocket to pay for our drinks. Doors had only been open for thirty minutes, but it was already a sell-out. We had been lucky to get in. News of the gig had spread quickly and with almost 200 people in the small room, the heat and noise was already becoming intolerable. I passed Ellis his drink and ignored the look I got from him.

‘What’s the crack?’ he shouted across to me. ‘You can’t drag me in here and not tell me anything?’

I’d spotted John Starkey making his way through the crowd, heading towards the backstage area. I wasn’t that surprised to see him. I pointed him out to Ellis. ‘The sacked drummer.’ ’I then pointed out Mark Harrison, stood on a seat at the side of the room, watching his band set up their equipment. ‘Know who he is?’ I asked.

Ellis shook his head.

‘Former manager of the band. Soon as they got a sniff of the big time, he was out on his ear.’

Ellis shrugged. ‘So what? Hardly anything new, is it?’

I agreed and told him the story.

‘And that’ I said, pointing across the room, ‘is Steve Hollins, the band’s current manager.’

‘I know him by reputation.’

I waved across the room to him. ‘I’ve got your master-tapes’ I said, when he had made his way through the crowd.

‘You’ve got them?’ he repeated.

‘Not physically got them, but I know who has them.’

‘Nice one.’ He gripped my shoulder and squeezed.

I pointed to the exit. ‘We can hear ourselves think if we go outside.’

The door slammed shut behind us, reducing the volume of the music to a low level rumble. We walked across the car-park, careful to avoid the potholes, and stood under the lamp-post close to the street. I heard the door open and shut and saw John Starkey walk over to join us.

‘You’ve sorted our problem, then’ said Hollins, smiling at me. I asked him for the fee we’d agreed. He counted it out in £20 notes. It would pay the bills for a couple of weeks.

‘I think so.’ I indicated to Starkey that he should come no closer. ‘It’s a shame you had to sack him.’

Hollins shrugged. ‘Just business. Nothing personal.’ He waved to his former drummer.

‘Sometimes you have to make tough decisions in this business. You’re a businessman, you understand where I’m coming from. And it’s great you’ve got the masters back for us. I’m really grateful. It’ll certainly make the press conference a lot easier. It’ll look good having you there and won’t do your business any harm, will it?

‘I suppose not.’

He lent in closer to me. ‘It’s a shame John had to go, but I always had my doubts about him, you know? He’s not as focused as the rest of the band.’

‘I heard the new record wasn’t up to scratch.’

Hollins laughed. ‘Who told you that?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s what I heard.’

‘I think you’ll find people don’t want to let the band grow. For sure, the first album was raw and full of energy but it wasn’t a true representation of what the band’s about. Since we’ve got them in the studio for the second album, they’ve grown. The songs are more mature, more reflective; they’ve got more to write about now. As they’ve developed, they’ve needed to improve as musicians, to challenge themselves. Sadly, John didn’t really measure up in that department, either.’

‘What do the record company think of the record?’

‘They’re still digesting it.’ Hollins nodded at Starkey. ‘How did he get the masters?’
I turned and watched Ellis and Mark Harrison walk over to us. ‘It wasn’t John.’

Hollins looked like he was going to be sick. ‘Harrison?’

‘He’s got motive.’ I said. I turned to Ellis. ‘Are you getting all of this, Neil?’

He had his notepad open. ‘Loud and clear.’ He looked up. ‘How did he get the master-tapes?’ 

‘He still visits the band’s house’ I said. ‘Even though I bet they were told to be careful, they were probably lying around.’

Hollins interrupted me and pointed aggressively at Harrison. ‘Mark’s problem is he can’t leave them alone. He really should get over it and move on. You weren’t good enough for the band, Mark. You’re small-time and don’t forget it. You haven’t got the balls for this job.’

Hollins walked around in small circles, presumably thinking it through. ‘At least we’ll have the story for the press conference’ he said eventually. ‘I know you’re bitter, Mark, but I’m still shocked by this; really shocked.’

I looked at Harrison. I didn’t want to say but it had to be said. ‘You’re bitter, aren’t you, Mark?’ I said. ‘The band were set for the big time and you thought your mates would value what you’d done and stick by you.’ I turned to Hollins. ‘I’ve no doubt you were very persuasive and promised to open doors for the band that Mark could only dream of doing.’ I turned back to Harrison and shrugged. ‘It’s a shitty business, that’s for sure.’ I couldn’t blame Harrison for being bitter. He had good reason. I assumed he’d downplayed it because he was embarrassed; embarrassed that I thought he was a failure. I waited for Ellis to confirm he had his notes up to date. ‘But it wasn’t Mark, though, was it, Steve?’

Hollins stared at me, confused. ‘You just said it was.’

I shook my head. So far as I could tell, Mark Harrison was a decent guy; probably too decent to cut it in the music industry. Don locating him had proved to be a false lead. I wondered if Harrison and Starkey had cooked up something together, but if felt unlikely. They probably weren’t even in Hull that much at the same time. Starkey was clearly messed-up with people worried about him, but if he had been sacked by the band, he would have no reason to be at the gig. That only left one person. ‘Did Hollins put you up to it, John? Tell you to play along with plan?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ said Hollins.

Ignoring him, I continued to speak to the drummer. ‘He took advantage of you, John. He used you. He asked you to pretend that you’d been kicked out of the band, didn’t he? I bet you’ve been having second thoughts about all of this, haven’t you? First of all you had to fuck off your mate when he was doing a decent job for you.  He might not be as dynamic as Hollins but he still deserved some respect, didn’t he? You were the only one in the band who stood up for him, I bet. You probably tried to change their minds, told them that you all owed Mark something. They didn’t listen, though, did they? All they were interested in was the fame and money. The moment you stood up for Mark marked you down as a loose cannon. Things were different after that, weren’t they?’
Starkey couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘He told me to do it. He said I wasn’t as committed as the rest of the band and this was a chance to prove myself. If I agreed to pretend it was me who stole the masters, I’d show I wanted to stay in the band. I just had to disappear for a couple of days.’

‘I suggest you shut up’ said Hollins.

‘Why did he make you do it, John?’ I asked. ‘Did the record company reject the new record?’

Starkey nodded. ‘They said it wasn’t good enough. They were refusing to release it.’

‘And with your rivals releasing their second album, you’re getting left behind, aren’t you?’ I turned to face Hollins. ‘And you thought you’d generate some publicity for yourself and maybe take a bit of the limelight off them? Hope the record label would look on the new record a bit more favourably when it’s cloaked in a bit of mystique and mystery?’ I remembered Joe Strummer going missing on the eve of a Clash tour to help increase tickets. It had worked. I went straight out and bought one. I didn’t like being taken for a mug and Steve Hollins wasn’t going to get the better of me. The master-tapes had probably never left the studio. For all the hit records and fame it brought, the music industry was a shitty business. ‘Got your story?’ I asked Ellis. 

He nodded. ‘Front page I should think.’

‘Good.’

‘Back to Queens?’

I felt the bundle of £20 notes Hollins had given me. ‘No. Back to mine. We’ll get some cans and put some proper music on.’

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