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John peeped out of his pit and eyed the others suspiciously while they
sat on George's bed and talked privately. He disappeared back into
his pit.
"What's his problem?" Ringo asked in the hushed tone that himself,
Paul, and George used when John was within hearing
distance.
"Y' don't think he suspects something do ya," Paul asked, nervously
glancing in John's direction.
"Come off it Paul," George half-laughed. "He doesn't pick up on things
as fast as Ringo does."
Ringo gave a cheesy grin at George's comment. "And they call him the
smart one. Anyroad, we need to develop a 'code', so to speak.
So John doesn't catch on."
"Yeah, you're right," Paul agreed. "How about today when I get back
from the organizer, you guys ask me a question about Norm or Shake?"
When they nodded, he continued, "If I say 'icky, icky', things start at
seven. If I say 'icky, ouky," seven thirty, or --"
"How about we just learn parts of different languages or use code sentences?"
George suggested, already confused.
Paul sighed heavily. "Ok, here's what we'll do..."
***
Dear Journal, I know they're up to something. I'm not sure
what it is yet. Any time I come into the room lately, they go to
George's part of the house and talk in a whisper. John looked
at his clock. It's 10:00 a.m. now, the three of them have been
conversing about an hour. I'm going to try and confirm my suspicions
that they are working for the commy's. I turn 25 in a few days, so
I hope they don't kill me if I find out too much. I'm scared, I haven't
been
this this scared since that Kaiheli priest was chasing Ringo...
or that stripper in...
John erased the part about the stripper in the Phillipines, should
his precious journal fall into the wrong hands (a.k.a. the press).
Did he just hear his name? He peeped out of his pit for the umpteenth
time.
Paul was standing up now, stretching. "I'm going to go see if the Thames
is flowing backwards."
Huh? John thought. He decided to speak up. "You know bloody
well the Thames never flows backwards you twit."
"Then I guess...I'll go see if...the Parliment is meeting," Paul smiled
innocently.
"Don't forget to jump the bar," Ringo reminded. "Or to put Lassie in
the kennel."
"Or to put the tea on boil!" George added, as if it was the most important
thing in the world.
"Do you honestly think I would forget that? That's the most important
thing."
John feel back onto his bed, wide-eyed with horror. He wrote
in his journal again. They're talking in codes! George
got a devilish grin when he "reminded Paul to 'put the tea on boil'."
In case something happens to me:
Norm gets my pit. Shake gets all my precious volumes.
Paul gets the blue folder, and all it's contents, under my mattresses.
George gets the orange folder, and all it's contents. Ringo gets my mint
condition, never out of the sleeves, seals never broken Buddy Holly record
collection. And, I leave all my money to (who else but?) the
Government.
J.W.L. 6 Oct. 1965
John heard Paul close the door as he left. "Eh Ring?"
Ringo stopped as he passed by. "What is it John-luv?"
"If the three of ya were commy's, you'd...tell me...right?"
Ringo laughed. "What kind of question is that?"
"Yeah, I --"
"Of coarse we wouldn't," Ringo finished, his expression changing serious.
He went to his bed, sat down, and took off his shoes.
John turned off his light and dove under the covers. Nothing
can get me now, I'm under the covers. Call it cheesy, but John
still believed in that childhood notion that nothing (not even a commy)
could hurt him if he hid under the covers.
***
"What was that about?" George asked, nodding in John's direction. "It's
not even noon."
"I think, that he thinks we are commy's," Ringo chuckled. "So he thinks
under the covers is a safe place to hide."
"Well, he's right," George laughed.
"So, ven do think will be za best time for za birds to fly...Egor?"
Ringo did his best Russian accent.
George quickly caught on and switched to, what Ringo guessed was, a
German accent (though George did a terrible job due to his extremely thick
English accent). "I vould guess avound teatime...Aric." He chuckled.
RIngo fell on his bed laughing. "What was that supposed to be?"
He grabbed his side when it started hurting from his laughter. "Ow!!"
He only laughed harder.
When Ringo managed to stop laughing, the sound of John's pout made
him and George laugh again.
***
Two hours later, John had emerged from the safety of his covers and
was sitting on the floor, his back to the bookcase, legs dangling in his
pit, and reading "Dick and Jane" (yes, the children's book), when Paul
ran in slamming the door behind him. John continued reading and giggling.
George and Ringo, with a laugh, saluted Paul in a Hitler manner.
"George, Ring, the birds fly at teatime," Paul announced, saluting
them as well. "Did I miss something? When did we start--" he grinned
when it dawned on him "--saluting around John?"
"He thought we were commy's. And hid under his covers because
he thought it was a safe place," George provided.
"Well, he was right, wasn't he?" Paul simply shrugged as he took off
his jacket.
"This book is naughty," John giggled.
"
Is he reading that children's book again?" Paul yanked his shoes off.
"Ringo, I thought I told you to take that book from him."
"Wh--- Oh! I forgot we--" Ringo jumped up and snatched
the book from John...or at least tried.
"Hey! This is my book," John protested, beginning a game of tug-of-war
for the book with Ringo. "Let go of it Twit!"
Ringo bent down and bit at John's hand, instantly making the lad surrender
his book. "Catch Paul," Ringo called, tossing the book to Paul.
"Thanks mate," Paul replied, catching the book. "We couldn't have Johnnie
mussing our plans now could we?"
***
7 Oct. 1965 - Dear Journal, suspicions confirmed...I think.
It seems they mention the whole "hiding under the covers" deal when they
also mention my thinking they are commy's and they only say "He's right."
But, what am I right about? Them being commy's or hiding under the
covers? They're coming in, I can't let them think I know all their
dirty
little secrets.
J.W.L.
John shoved his journal into the small bookshelf in his pit as George
and Ringo came from the kitchen. Norm and Shake were behind them.
"Teatime?" Norm said, as if he were repeating it. "That's a lit'le
late isn't it?"
"Eh, Norm," John piped, jumping up to sit on the edge of his pit.
"What is it John?" Norm sighed, hands-on-hips.
"Look a lit'le feminine standing like that y' swine." John gave
a cheesy grin. "Where's Paul?"
"He's in the kitchen," Norm replied, putting his hands in his pockets.
"That doesn't look any better," John teased, giving Norm a pig snort
as he went into the kitchen. Damn, he's on the phone, he thought,
sitting at the table awaiting his turn to talk to Paul.
"Yeah, preferably a blond, about five-six...without her heels on, don't
want her too short..." Paul turned and jumped slightly at the sight of
John. "Uh-huh...mmm-hmm...hold on, let me ask, he's sittin' right here."
Paul held the receiver behind his back. "John-luv, American, Swedish, German,
or Russian?"
"Hmmm...America has gear cheese, but so do the Sweds. Germany
has great chocolate..." Maybe if he knew the exact question he could
give a better answer.
"Make up your mind John!" Paul hissed.
"German then," John snapped.
Paul put the receiver back to his ear. "German...wait...you wouldn't
happen to have Norwedgian would you?"
"LAME," John mouthed. He snickered slightly, as did Paul, at
Paul's lame reference to the song they had recently done.
Paul cleared his throat and got his serious tone again. "German is
fine... teatime...yeah, that's correct...no, tomorrow would be too early,
luv...yeah... Alright luv. Ta. Bye." Paul hung up the phone and gave
John a "die!" look.
John gulped uncomfortably. They were going to put poison in some German
chocolate...[John drooled at the thought of the chocolate], someday after
tomorrow, during teatime! To knock him off because he knew too much!
***
8 Oct. 1965 - Dear Journal, They're going to kill me! J.W.L.
***
9 Oct. 1965 - Dear Journal, I'm 25 now. I found my "Dick and
Jane" book. The commy's had jotted down what some of their codes
meant in the back cover. "Birds fly" means the operation begins, "teatime"
means 7:30 p.m.,
"dawn" means 7:00 p.m., and "dusk" means 8:00 p.m. My nerves
are racked, my best mates are REALLY going to kill me at 7:30 p.m. either
tonight or someday soon... John looked around the empty house, he found
this odd in a sense...I just hope it's not tonight. I don't fancy
dying on me birthday.
J.W.L.
John reached for his water glass and took a sip...only to find that
it was empty. "Bloody hell," he muttered. For the past day and a
half, he'd been drinking nothing but water. Mainly because, in the
event of his poisoning, he didn't want the doc to find
anything in his blood (except the poison) that wasn't supposed to be
there.
He sighed heavily and climbed the two steps that got him up to "floor
level," as the others often said. As he was about to go into the
kitchen, Paul came out of it.
"Where are you going?" Paul asked, crossing his arms over his chest
in a stubborn manner.
"To get some water," John replied, trying to hide the shake in his
voice. "I'm thirsty."
"No you're not."
John dropped his glass and ran to his door and tried to open it.
But it was jammed, so he ran to Ringo's door. It was jammed, as was
Paul's. Undismayed, John chanced George's door.
It opened right up! But John's short lived triumph ended in his
screaming like a girl when he saw George standing in the doorway.
He was armed with a club like the copper's used to render people unconscious.
John was still screaming like a girl as he ran toward his final escape
route... his rotating bookshelf. But he had only got half way to
his pit when Ringo crawled his way from the bookcase. John skidded
to a stop.
Reduced to groveling, John got on his knees as the other three came
closer. "Please, c'mon, you're me best mates!" he pleaded. "Bleedin' Christ,
it's m' birthday!"
"Oh, that's right," Ringo nodded in agreement. "It is Johnnie's birthday..."
"So?"
John's jaw dropped in shock at Paul's casual disregaurd. What
really hurt was when Ringo honored Paul's question with an answer!
"To true...25, a nice even number," Ringo put his thumbs in his belt
loops. "We won't have to calculate up the months and days..."
John pouted slightly at that comment.
"Actually," George clarified, tapping the cop club against his leg.
"25 is an odd number...even numbers are identified by the ability to divide
a number by two and get a perfect half."
"You know what he meant," Paul snapped, looking at his watch. "C'mon
already, it's almost six."
"Sorry," George apologized sarcastically. "John-luv, believe me when
I say that this will hurt us alot more than it does you."
The last thing John remembered before, before he blacked out, was George
wacking him in the back of the head with the club.
***
"Would he be drooling if he was dead?"
George's voice.
"And snoring rather loudly?"
Ringo's voice.
"I'm just concerned is all... Norm just called, everything is almost
ready. It should be by time we get back to the house."
Paul's voice.
"Gear," George laughed. "Eh, me thinks Rip Van Winkle is coming 'round."
John coughed and gagged as he almost drowned in the puddle of drool
that had formed at his nose.
"Who's going to clean up John's slobbery mess?" Ringo asked. "Stop
looking at me, I'm not doing it!"
"Have a nice nap Johnnie?"
"Piss off Macca! Where am I? Why can't I see?" John growled.
"You're at Shake's house," Paul replied. "And you have on a blindfold.
No, don't try to remove it or George will clobber you again."
The phone rang and this time, Ringo answered it.
"We'll be right over Norm. ... Ta."
He knew it!! Norm was their leader!!
John was forced to stand up and was led outside. He was shoved
into a car. "Eh, Paul, c'n I borrow one of those?" John asked, when he
smelt the distinct scent of ciggies.
"No. But you can have this," Paul replied. "Anyroad, it's
a nasty habit."
John unwrapped the gum the best he could blindfolded. No fair,
he thought bitterly, all I get is gum. He felt the car come
to a stop.
"Come 'ead John-luv," Paul invited, but not exactly in a welcoming
tone.
Like I have a choice, John thought as Paul grabbed his arm,
while George and Ringo urged him from the car by pushing him.
By time John heard a door close, he had been spun around and re-directed
so much that he had no idea where he was. He felt the bandana come
off and blinked a few times so his eyes could adjust to the light.
He was...
Looking at Paul's door.
Huh? "What the bloody--" he turned around and was stunned into silence.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" shouted a handful of guests. All eight of them
(except Paul, because he was standing beside John) were standing around
a chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday Johnnie" written on it in icing,
and 25 green candles between
the words..
"Well?" Paul smiled as he twirled the blindfold around his finger.
"I'm sorry I thought you guys were commy's," John apologized.
"What gave you that notion?" George asked, obviously confused.
"We thought you knew we were talking about the whole hiding under the
covers deal," Paul whispered.
"That stay just between you, me, Ringo, and George got it?" John hissed.
"Um...That bird wouldn't happen to be German would she?"
"No, she's Swedish. The German got married yesterday. And
remember, she's not a stripper, she's---"
"An exotic dancer. yeah, yeah, yeah."
"Guess what else I found out about her," Paul grinned devilishly. "Her
name is Kolina and today is also her birthday."
John grinned and walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulders.
"They tell me it's your birthday. Well, it my birthday too.
Help me blow out the candles luv?"
She smiled sweetly and nodded.
John made a quick tabulation of the guests in his head. 3 plus 2 plus
2 plus 1 is...8. After everyone sang a very off key "Happy Birthday
to You," John and Kolina blew out all but... 9 candles?
"I added an extra because I know you would have put one in if you had
known," Paul gave John a cheesy grin.
"Cheeky," John laughed. He dipped his thumb and index finger
in water before extinguishing the trick candles one-by-one.
***
After everyone except Kolina had left for the night, Paul snuggled
under his covers and listen to John, Kolina, and Ringo read In His Own
Write, while they sat on the edge of the pit, drinking juice to sober
up a bit.
"...'I vouldn't, vor a... keek off," Kolina read.
"'Kick off ' luv," John corrected.
"What does that mean?"
"It means he wouldn't fight that dog for anything," Ringo informed.
Paul rolled over and hid under his covers, where it was safe.
It had turned out to be a very interesting party. Paul snuggled further
under his covers only to feel someone poking him in the head.
"Psst...Paul."
"What is it John," Paul asked, without leaving the protection of his
covers.
"Kolina is ready to go home."
Paul reached over to his nightstand, blindly retrieved his alarm clock,
and pulled it under the covers with him. It was only 2:29 in the
morning... Paul put the clock back on the nightstand and felt around for
his keys until he found them.
"Drive careful," Paul muttered holding the keys toward the direction
John's voice had came from.
"Paul," John scolded. "Get your lazy arse out of bed an' take her home.
I'm not sober enough yet."
"Let her stay in the guest room," Paul grumbled.
When it got quiet, Paul put his keys back on the nightstand and curled
into a little ball. Paul felt a little movement on his bed, when
it stopped, he started to drift back to sleep.
"1..." John's voice.
"2..." Ringo's voice.
"3..." George's voice.
"FA!" all three voices.
Before Paul had time to protest, he found himself on the floor, with
his mattress on top of him. He heard John, George, and Ringo's retreating
steps and a muffled female laugh.
"He's awake now luv," John giggled. "He c'n take you home."
THE END
This fic is an original work by Jamie Paula Macca. Post it w/o my permission
and I'll send you angry e-mails. BUT, if you like
my fic and would like to link to it on your page ask permission by
e-mailing me at PaulaMacca@workingclasshero.com . Please
send me your site URL if you want to host it, I like to check out the
prospective homes of my fics!!!
