It was a dark night in France. It was past midnight, and virtually the only light to be seen on the street was coming from an enormous villa. Not just some villa, no, the villa of rock star Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones.
‘Hmm.. those Europe gigs, don't really sell well.. yeah Mike, cancel a few and add some more in the US.. those patriotic idiots pay big bucks.. @#$%& idiots, you know what Michael’, Mick Jagger said, as he took a sip from his vodka, ‘I don't blame those Europeans... but then again.. they're onto us... what we gonna do about it?’
Michael Cohl, the Rolling Stones’ tour manager, with him in the room for a meeting, started: ‘how about a free gig?’.
‘Free?’, Mick asked, a little disturbed.
‘We'll sell some TV rights and stuff, it'll still get you a couple of million dollars’.
‘I see’, Mick answers, sliding back comfortably in his expensive French fauteuil.
‘Let's do that. Yeah. @#$%& idiots will be kissing my feet again in no time. We really are smart Michael. Smart men. And I'm out of vodka. Hand me that bottle.’ He points at a stylish looking Diaka Vodka bottle.
Cohl hands him the bottle, asking ‘I was in church this sunday Mick and, well, I was thinking, what we're doing, Mick, is it right?’.
‘Is what right?’, Mick asks, the vodka having effect on his voice.
‘The way we treat the fans. Your fans. They ARE loyal, aren't they?’.
‘Loyal?’, Mick asks, with a Satanic smile on his face. ‘They're like @#$%& lap dogs. You're drivelling Michael. Have yourself another drink’.
‘Hmm, I guess you're right Mick’, he mumbles, but Mick does detect a certain form of doubt in his voice.
‘Are you telling me not to cancel the European gigs?’, Mick asks, quite incensed. Cohl is quiet. Mick's blood is close to boiling... ‘do you know how easily you can be replaced, Cohl?’.
Cohl knew that whenever Mick called him Cohl, he was in serious, serious trouble.
'But Mick,’, he started, but Mick shouted ‘that's mister Jagger to you, you pathetic piece of trash!’. ‘It only takes one shot Michael, and you're done with’. Fear is visible in Cohl's eyes quite clearly now. ‘Yes, yes, no mister Jagger, I'll cancel them right now’.
‘You know what Cohl, you've been annoying me since the day we've met. Every once in a while you start rambling on about loyalty and fans and whatever bullshit you give me. I should kill you on the spot Cohl, I really should’.
Cohl was aware that, under the pillow of Mick's arm chair, or as he likes to call it, his fauteuil, he keeps a gun. A Smith & Wesson Model 629 in .44 Magnum, to be precise. Mick continued his speech, but Cohl was hardly listening. He was more focussed on Mick's right hand. Was it just his imagination, or was it actually nearing the pillow of Mick's chair? It couldn't be, he said to himself. He wouldn't do it. It was just his imagination, running away with him, he ensured himself, as the Temptations tune started to sound in head. He quickly shook it away, realzing this was not the time for that. He hadn't been listening to a word Mick said, as he was first of all concentrated on his right arm, and, secondly, he had already poured himself another rather big glass of Diaka and he was becoming harder to understand by the word. He shook up out of his thoughts, and realized Mick had finished.
'So, Michael, what's it gonna be?’, Mick yelled. ‘Huh? What? I'm sorry, I wasn't liste..’, Michael started to explain, but all of a sudden, when Mick pulled the gun out from under the pillow.
‘You haven't been listening to a word I said, have you? This isn't the first time. No, you never listen, you arsehole. I should kill you. But I'm a gentleman. I wouldn't do that. I have a better idea.’. He sat down, slid his chair closer to Cohl's and emptied the Smith & Wesson except for one bullet. He spun the revolver, and put the gun to his head. ‘Mi.. I mean, mister Jagger, I really don't think this is’ Michael started, but Mick was furious, and yelled ‘shut up you ugly piece of trash!’. ‘Hmm.. not so cool now, eh, Cohl?’. He had a devilish grin on his faced. He put his finger to the trigger. Cohl was confused, he didn't know what to do, so he just sat there. Mick pulled the trigger. Click. Now he really started to laugh. He put the gun in Cohl's hands, and said ‘here, Cohl, who's the hot shot now, eh? Come on, pull the trigger. Spin it if you like’.
Cohl still didn't move. He didn't know what was happening. All of a sudden, Mick slapped him to the face and shouted ‘pull the damn trigger Cohl, or I'll do it for you, and I don't think you'll have any chance of surviving that’, as he pulled out a small Bersa Thunder .45 gun from his inner pocket.
Cohl decided it was best to put the gun to his head and get it over with. Click. He didn't know what to think. Mick took the gun from him, spun it and put his finger on the trigger again without saying a single word. Click. Again.
He put the gun in Coles hands again and Cohl realised it was best to just do it. Click. He let out a sigh of relief. Mick pulled the gun from his hands and threw it in a corner of the room.
‘Did you really think that was a real bullet, Cohl? It's a blank, you idiot. Did you think I was going to give you a loaded gun? Come on Cohl.’ He was laughing out loud. He had put the Bersa Thunder back in his pocket and sat back down.
‘You really are a dumb @#$%&, aren't you, Cohl’, Mick said, quite amused. ‘Now get the @#$%& out of here, will you?’. Cohl stood up, still a little confused.
Then, all of a sudden, he heard a bang. A pain in his back. He fell to his knees. Felt how slowly, his hart stopped beating. Just before he let out his final breath, he looked over his shoulder, and saw Keith Richards standing in the darkness.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2006-07-26 14:56 by Lizard.

Gsus, now Lizard please don't tell me this came off your mind...oO

Well, it was midnight, I didn't have anything to do, and it's way too warm here in Holland to sleep, so I figured, why not shake up a nice story.

I hope you have a speedy and pleasant recovery, but you are clearly ill...

Come on, have you never had writing ambitions?

But it was very exciting. Echt spannend Lizard, Wat is 'spannend' in het Engels...?

Great story, I really liked it. A nice way to deal with the matter. Maybe we all should be writing stories from time to time, as a relief. ;-)

Jelle

Thank you, my friend!!

Sounds..read like a movie!!!Fun!!!

I didn't mention if I liked it or not, so here goes - it's great, Lizard.
a though thing tho' is reading it in a monolith text block.

done



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2006-07-26 14:57 by open-g.

Much better written than Freejack, Ned Kelly, Performance, etc.!

I have edited it to be a little more orderly. You can remove the terribly quote now.

'Tops' for sure, Lizard!

I wonder if they can somehow work a screen version of this into the upcoming TV sitcom 'Let's Rob Mick Jagger.' You know, as a short skit between commercial advertisements.

... But then, I think this would make for a far better series.

Thank you!!

Always love a happy ending...

Really enjoyed it, nice

Thanks!!

Very well written, Lizard. Gripping, to say the least. Cohl as a victim, not the antagonist, is a provocative twist.

What the soundtrack to that? What about the end credits? :0)

Beautiful job Lizard !

it seems that beely boy has some competition . . .

Thank you!!

Should I contact a publisher?

Contact a good high-school, you got a very very fine English for a person under 18.

Erik_Snow Wrote:
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> Contact a good high-school, you got a very very
> fine English for a person under 18.

His English is better than many adult Americans. Sad, but true, Yours aint too bad either, Erik.

Lukester Wrote:
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> His English is better than many adult Americans.
> Sad, but true, Yours aint too bad either, Erik.


I put in an 18-limit, to not make his ego unbearable for his schoolmates,
just tactics.
And thanks, for the comment....but I can't speak English that well, it's easier to write....or sing.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2006-07-27 20:25 by Erik_Snow.

So Erik when I call and talk to you with the group in London, will you be able to understand my Southern drawl? I talk slowly.

I'll give it a go, and if it doesn't work, we can try the Harstad-dialect of Norwegian...it's pretty close to American. Words like "egg", "fjord" and "we" are the same!

Okay, I'll practice up on my Harstad- dialect.

I never speak English, except very rarely in school, but my English-teacher is kind of messed up, so that always ends in extremely vulgar sex-jokes. Although, my pronunciation is fine. I have kind of an odd mix between English and American, though.

Lizard Wrote:
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> ....but my English-teacher is kind of messed
> up, so that always ends in extremely vulgar
> sex-jokes.

That sounds interesting!

Erik_Snow Wrote:
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> Lizard Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > ....but my English-teacher is kind of messed
> > up, so that always ends in extremely vulgar
> > sex-jokes.
>
> That sounds interesting!

It is. He's the worst lazy bastard on the planet. Most of the time he says.. "hmm, I don't feel like working.. is this your last class for today?? Hmm okay, leave then". If he doesn't tell us to leave he basically walks out of the classroom to flirt with the handsome blonde physics-teacher across the hall, leaving is to be bored to death. Last few months he didn't give us a single test.. report card said "based on work made in class".. yeah my ass!! But then again.. he is funny.. but mad. Sometimes he walks in, gives a slam on the nearest object he can find, and yells "I SHOULD KILL YOU ALL!!". Or he can spend a long time throwing wet spunges at his schoolbord, "creating art", as he calls it. And he loves it when I say.. well.. how to translate it.. in Dutch it is "vrouwen zijn net erwtensoep.. als het pruttelt moet de worst erin!!", freely translated, "woman are like soup.. if it starts to boil, you put the sausage in!!". Anyway, he's not that crazy. Not near to me, I guess. I could have gotten a worse teacher!!