Chasing The Last Road To Stockholm

The PIP showed a menu on the screen that my ex and the fuckweasel were looking at. It was a bog-standard view of the Windows file explorer. Several files were just jumbles of letters, others were standard features of Bill Gates' finest. One stood out -- all in capitals. 'SONGS BACKUP'.

"Copy that one," Phoebe said, excitement and delight clear in her voice.

"There's no mouse!" complained the shitweasel.

"So use the keyboard - the arrow keys."

Both pairs of eyes looked down, and then back up again as a series of clicks could be heard.

"There they are!" Phoebe was beside herself with excitement. "I'm going to be a star -- a rich star!"

The PIP changed as a submenu appeared.

Janie moved restlessly beside me. "I can't read that, what does it say?"

I pressed a key and the two screens swopped, the excited faces becoming smaller while the screenshot grew to take its place.

"View, sort, group... that's a standard options menu," said Janie.

"Not quite," I said. "Watch."

The highlight bar on the menu clicked down several lines.

"What are you doing?" Phoebe said through the laptop speakers, alarm in her voice. "Don't pick that one!"

"I'm not doing anything!"

"No! No! You pressed it. You pressed it. You fucking idiot!"

"I never touched it!"

The highlight hovering over the word Format darkened, the menu disappeared and a new screen took its place.

*1. Aren't you not sure you really don't want to delete

none of the contents on the secondary drive?*

*2. Aren't you not sure you really don't want to delete

none of the contents on the primary drive?*

Below it, a timer was counting down from 30 seconds. I swapped the two views again to get a good look at their faces.

"Stop it! Don't let it do that!" moaned Phoebe.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" roared fuckweasel. "Shut your face and let me work it out!"

"Twenty-five seconds. Stop it!"

"I don't know which one to choose, you stupid bitch."

"You started it, so stop it."

"I never touched it."

"Well I didn't! And there's only the two of us here."

A third face, belonging to their pet burglar, peered over their shoulders, contradicting Phoebe's assertion.

"Problem?"

"It's going to delete everything," cried shitweasel, panic in his voice.

"So turn it off," said the burglar.

Phoebe and the weasel both launched themselves forward, disappearing off camera. There was a loud click, and they settled back into view.

"How is it still counting down?" said Phoebe suddenly, her eyes wide with panic.

"How the fuck do I know?" the shitweasel roared.

Phoebe began pounding on the keyboard. "Stop! Stop!"

I switched views again. The counter hit zero and the screen began to dissolve into blackness. A final message appeared.

*You chose... poorly*

Phoebe began to slap at the shitweasel's head, screaming at him. He'd picked up the keyboard and was hitting it on the PC case.

None of them saw the front door being forced open and the four security men entering, until the burglar caught sight of them and immediately darted out onto the balcony. In the mirror, his hand was seen to slip on the rail, and a wail of despair was heard as he slipped and fell the twenty feet to the lawn outside. One of the security men laughed and spoke into a walkie-talkie while the other three secured Phoebe and the shitweasel, my ex kicking out at him once her arms were secured and she could no longer slap him.

I sighed as the two women stared at me.

"What?" I said after a moment. "It's my favourite video clip at the moment. I'm thinking it would look good on YouTube.

"You did all that?" asked Summer.

"I didn't make them break into the flat," I said, a little defensively, and then sniggered. "They chose poorly. I chose wisely and didn't tell them about the silent alarm and security service I subscribed to."

Janie was laughing silently, her shoulders shaking. Finally, she had to let it free. "The look on their faces."

Summer began to laugh as well. "You had to go Indiana Jones on them? Seriously? I fell in love with a nerd?"

"He always has been, always will be," Janie laughed, a little breathless. "He's an absolute whizz-kid on the computer. Did he not tell you about the time he cracked into the school computer and changed the history exam paper so that the first noun in every question came out as 'Hairy Pussy'?"

"You knew that was me?" I asked, astounded. I didn't tell anyone about that. Hell, there was no one to tell.

"Of course I knew. Jeez that question about the Magna Carta! 'Describe the hairy pussy of King John and the Barons' role within it.' That was superb."

Summer stared at me, then took my arm and kissed me soundly. "So my White Knight can play Black Knight as well? Good to know. Every girl wants a bad boy sometimes."

"That bad boy just put three people in jail," chortled Janie.

I shook my head. "No, they just got a fine, a warning and community service. Nothing much was damaged or taken. I didn't press charges."

"I thought you wanted revenge," my sister said.

"Oh, I did, but then I realised that the opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. I love Summer, and I just don't care enough about Phoebe anymore to feel vengeful. I did get a protection order out of it. They have to stay at least a kilometre away from here. Mostly I did it for Mum. I couldn't have her thrown in the clink for brawling in the street."

There was a thoughtful silence.

"She would have wiped Phoebe's clock for her, though," mused Janie.

"Oh, absolutely," I agreed. "She was probably bare-knuckle champion of Wakefield when she was younger."

Summer stared at us, looking alarmed, until Janie caved. "We're just taking the piss, love. You'll never meet anyone gentler than Mum."

"She can threaten up a storm with the best of them, though," I pointed out.

"Absolutely," agreed Janie.

"I'm scared," said Summer, cuddling into me, which was nice.

¬¬¬*****¬¬¬

Bad Dog, bad dog, checking your lipstick
Tryin' to make a cowlick, could be a matchstick
Could be a broomstick, be glad it's not a yardstick
Maybe it's a joystick, so just give it a flick
Cos you're superslick.
Bad dog, bad dog. What we gonna do with you?

Bad Dog (B. Lake) 2019

¬¬¬*****¬¬¬

EPILOGUE

ZERO HOUR (+RESET+)

It surprised everyone when Summer took a seat at the drum kit and sat quietly. For a moment, I waited, guitar hanging weightily around my neck and the lights hot and heavy on my skin, watching the crowd watching us -- enjoying the moment. Then I started that incredible seven note bass riff, and on the third pass she came in right on time with the simple, but compulsive drum beat. Seven Nation Army, done our way -- with my gruff voice growling the lyrics and Summer coming in on the chorus to sweeten things up considerably.

We were playing at the wedding of two close friends. Along with Summer, who had moved in, I had actually acquired friends. All due to her influence, obviously, but it still surprised me that they seemed to like me as well.

Once the wedding guests got over their surprise -- this was a country pub, after all - it almost turned into a riot as everyone scrambled to get into the swing of it. I think every type of dancing possible took place as dancing couples -- as well as trios, foursomes and every other combination -- then overflowed into all parts of both bars. All I could see was heads bobbing to the beat.

I don't think many people there knew the words to the song, but most had at least heard the tune somewhere. The visceral riff and beat was now a big part of the sports world, unifying fans of many nations into one huge voice. As a song-writer and a musician, I loved that aspect of it -- a whole world singing the same song.

It certainly brought the wedding party to life.

I watched the bride and groom swinging through steps of some dance they'd made up on the spot. Grandparents clutched each other and slow-danced, or picked up a small grandchild and swung around them around and around, much to their delight.

The bridesmaids got into it, spontaneously forming a chorus line, kicking their legs high and flashing their knickers. Others guests were waltzing, doing a salsa or just standing and grinding on each other. A few were even trying to get a Gay Gordons going.

It was a triumph and when I signalled to Summer to extend it for two more choruses, she just smiled. We were going to leave these people pumped and needing a break.

The applause that came spontaneously was huge. A hundred and twenty people or so made enough noise that you'd have thought it was an arena.

We then swung into The Chain by Fleetwood Mac, my magic pedal allowing the bass to really boom out as the break and change came towards the end of the intro, Summer fading in the drum beat alongside my riff.

We really belted out the lyrics, Summer's sweet contralto seeming to curl around my rough tenor and lift the whole thing to new heights. I still had to marvel how my sweetly determined girlfriend had persuaded me to come out of the closet as a singer, so to speak.

She joined me at the front, clutching a tambourine, and we started in on Bad Dog to give the dancers a rest. Some didn't need it, others ignored it, but several were tapping their feet and laughing at the lyrics, which were short, choppy and simple.

Bad dog, bad dog, you did it, you did.
You flipped your lid, went into a skid
Made your bid, got things rigid
Things got candid, tho' it's not all sordid
But you were off grid. Bad dog, bad dog,
What we gonna do, with you?

We got them dancing again, and Summer lead the bridesmaids into shuffle dancing, solo and in pairs to a ramped up Cheap Thrills by Sia, which then swung into an electronic melody that I'd composed, changing it on the fly to keep it interesting and allowing a lot of people to free dance as they wished. Summer then managed to solo Shake It Off by Taylor Swift with aplomb, while still keeping the beat on her drums, which got everybody else dancing once again, any way they wanted to.

To end the set, I dedicated a song to the bride and sang I'm Not In Love by 10cc, perhaps the best love song of all time, in my opinion. Summer sang the ethereal back-up parts and still kept the timing perfectly, and I must admit I had tears in my eyes. As the last note rang on and on, I set down the guitar, turned to Summer and held out an engagement ring. She, in turn, leapt on me, clinging to me with her arms and legs wrapped tightly around me, and kissing me like she was underwater and I had all the oxygen.

It had been a long, long road. We'd taken a lot of damage along the way, but we'd emerged, scathed but still functioning at the destination. It had been worth every note of the song I sent via Lappies to Alter Bridge, to see if they wanted Chasing the Last Road.

They said yes.

More importantly, so did Summer -- my own little Goblin.