Stands on shifting sands

The scales held in her hands

The wind it just whips her away

And fills up her brigantine sails

–––––––––––––––

 

 

 

 

The detective sighed and sat down.

 

George looked at him expectantly.

 

“Ten minutes then, Mr Harrison. We really have so much to cover here,” Myles said.

 

“Much obliged,” George said sarcastically and stood, following the receptionist out of the room.

 

“He’s waiting for you in one of the vacant interview rooms,” Mrs Robinson was explaining as they walked. “He wanted to wait in the reception but there’s quite a crowd gathering now.”

 

“Press?” George said, ruefully.

 

Mrs Robinson nodded, “Well, they’re mostly staying outside. But it’s not every day we have such a celebrity here. And since your friend arrived…well, it’s been chaos!”

 

“My friend?” George asked, wondering how Michael Archer could create a fuss, but before Mrs Robinson could reply the explanation walked round the corner.

 

He looked calm and collected, organised and flawless. It infuriated George, who had been steadily feeling worse since the police had picked him up that morning.

 

He was flanked either side by a uniformed policeman, laughing and smiling, fawning over him just like the fans, the journalists, the photographers… the women.

 

George stopped. Mrs Robinson was saying something but he wasn’t listening. He hadn’t even seen George yet.

 

“What are you doin’ here?” he said loudly and threateningly.

 

Paul looked up and their eyes met. He smiled faintly and skipped forward to draw level with him. “George…” he said as he arrived, putting his hand out to pat his shoulder. George stepped back so Paul missed him. He let his hand drop to his side. “Please, George. Come on, mate,” he said, quietly, pleading with his eyes.

 

George glared at him icily, “I’m not your mate,” he hissed, “What are you doing here? You with him? Archer?”

 

“No,” Paul said, “What’s he doing here?”

 

“Who told you?”

 

“Ringo called me,” Paul said.

 

“So, did they bring you in too?”

 

“No,” Paul said again, “I thought I could come down here and…”

 

“Well, I don’t want you here so you can piss off home,” George cut him off.

 

“I can help…”

 

George pushed past him and stalked off down the corridor.

 

Their audience watched were watching in silent surprise, staring after George. Mrs Robinson came to her senses and hurried after him.

 

Paul watched them sadly, “George,” he shouted after him, “I’m not going anywhere, George. I’ll wait for you.”

 

George didn’t look back.

 

 

 

George opened the door to the room. Michael Archer, looking his usual weasel-like self stood up. He smiled sickly. George didn’t return it. “Where’s Brian?” he demanded, shutting the door behind him.

 

“He’s predisposed,” Archer replied, “I’m here instead.”

 

“I don’t want to see you. I want to see Brian,” George said. Archer gestured for George to sit. George begrudgingly did, “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

 

“No, George, we haven’t. It’s just on a day like this; we have to prioritise whose calls we take. We’ve probably had more than…”

 

“And I’m not a priority?” George interrupted.

 

Archer cleared his throat and sat too. “No,” he said calmly, “You’re not.”

 

“I think Brian would see that differently.”

 

“Brian and I are united. But I’m here now, aren’t I? As an act of goodwill, you understand.”

 

“Listen, I want to speak to the organ grinder, not the monkey,” George said, unperturbed.

 

“I don’t care for your tone, Mr Harrison.”

 

“I don’t care about what you don’t care for. If he’s not at the offices and he’s not at home…”

 

“If you must know, he’s on holiday.”

 

“What? Where?”

 

“I can’t tell you. He’s not to be disturbed.”

 

George leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “He’s gonna be livid when he hears about this.”

 

“Yes, I agree…”

 

“You’ll be out the door.”

 

 “...That a… person like you should be permitted to drag the good name of NEMS down into this sordid quagmire.”

 

George shook his head in disbelief, “And another thing, what the fuck did you tell John?”

 

“The truth, George.”

 

“You…”

 

“He and Ringo were quite surprised to hear it.”

 

“…lying bastard.”

 

“Lying? Did you, or did you not hand me your written resignation yesterday?”

 

“That letter was not addressed to you.” Anger was starting to well up inside George. He clenched his fists tightly. His palms felt hot and sticky.

 

“As I have explained, Brian is on holiday. I am dealing with all of his business concerns.”

 

“Is that so?” George said sardonically, “In that case, first you get on to the lawyers and get one down here pretty fuckin’ sharpish, then you call Brian and tell him exactly what’s going on.”

 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.”

 

“I’m going to wring your fuckin’ neck when I get out of here…”

 

“Are you threatening me, George? I’m sure the police would take a dim view of that,” Archer smiled again, arrogance all over his face. “Besides, shouldn’t that be if you get out of here.”

 

George was on his feet, fully intending to throw Archer against the wall and hold him there by his neck. He stopped himself just in time, his hand inches from his throat. Archer pushed George away from him with one finger, “What was her name? Grace something? Poor girl.”

 

George turned his back on him, pacing the room like a caged animal.

 

Archer stood. “Well, if that’s all you’ve got to say…”

 

“It’s not,” George snapped back.

 

“Like I said, George, this is just a goodwill visit and now I have a pressing appointment. If you need legal representation you will have to arrange it yourself. Good day.”

 

“Wait,” George jumped in front of him, blocking his path to the exit, “What do you mean?”

 

“You can’t expect to resign one day and then demand aid and whatever else from us the next.”

 

“I…”

 

“In fact, I’m about to issue a statement disestablishing you from us, from NEMS Enterprises, The Beatles and well, everything.”

 

George stared at him, not believing what he was hearing.

 

“We do not want any association with a murderer.”

 

“I am not a murderer,” George said quietly.

 

“We’ll see.”

 

“You might have Brian in your pocket, but John and Ringo will…”

 

“Oh, they’re quite in agreement, I think you’ll find.”

 

“What did you come here for? Just to provoke me?”

 

He smiled again. George wished he could punch those teeth to the back of his throat. “Just to let you know.” He stepped past George and opened the door. George let him go.