"Thanks for watching, everyone. Until next time, I'm George Harrison, reminding you to watch out, because next time *they* come, it might just be for you," George pointed his finger at the camera and flashed his signature grin.

"Ok, we're out," the man behind the camera annouced. George dropped his pose and turned to the camera man.

"What was that shit?" George edged slightly closer to the camera man threateningly, "during that entire last segment, you hardly covered me at all! These people don't watch to see these bloody mental cases!"

George turned and stalked off, back to his dressing room to get out of make-up, while Ringo stared, open mouthed. John walked up to Ringo from where he had been, back stage.

"From your expression I take it that he's... different than the one you're used to?" John asked, shrugging with his one good arm.

"Very," Ringo concurred, still stunned. When George had been talking on the show he had seemed so much... more personal, so much nicer. Still, they had to talk. Ringo sighed. No one ever said that getting all four of them together was going to be easy. By now, the idea of getting the three guys to sing together seemed impossible. Still, Ringo thought, he'd continue to try and do it. It had to be done. It was the only plan he had. Besides, it had already been set into motion. No turning back now. He had gotten this far, hadn't he?

"C'mon," Ringo turned to John, "or stay here for a minute if you'd rather. I've got to go talk to--him."

"I'll come," John said, "after all, it's all for a good cause."

They headed towards George's dressing room. It was easy to find. It was the only door with a large gold star on it. Ringo paused, then knocked.

"Yeah?" George's voice came from inside.

"Mr. Harrison, I'm a big fan. Could I possibly get your autograph?" Ringo asked.

There were slow footfalls as George walked to the door. Just as the doorknob turned, a man who looked like a security guard walked towards them. John and Ringo ducked into a supply closet.

"Mr. Harrison," the man said, "We've got to get on the road for the next show."

George came to the door and addressed the man, forgetting about the 'fan', "Toni, you've got to be kidding. We just finished."

"Just telling you ahead of time Sir, we have to go before to long."

"What show is this anyhow? What's the next topic?"

"You remember, the follow-up of today's show, 'A behind the scenes look at people.' We're going to the houses of those nuts you had on the show to see if they're really as odd as they say they are. You'll be heavily body guarded, of course. Don't worry about that."

George sighed, "We're doing it on location, of course. What I do for this show... crazy. I don't get paid enough for this. You've the addresses I assume?"

"Of course, Sir. We're starting with the guests from today's show first. That green woman and that one with long hair. The 'inter dimensional travelers'. We're going to tape the whole thing, but most of it will end on the cutting room floor."

"Right then," George concluded, "Call me when we leave, I'll be resting."

Toni walked off, and George went back into his room. Ringo turned to John.

"Did you hear all that?" he asked.

"I don't think Rich would want those people in his house."

"No doubt not.... I hate to think what Rich is doing to my house," Ringo paused a second, off topic, grinning, "but then again, he's probably not the destructive type.." Ringo snapped back to reality, "This is good. I hope."

"That's two people, right? Counting myself, of course," John asked.

"Yeah, I'm rather afraid Paul...James will be more trouble."

"That's tomorrow's problem," John replied.

"What?"

"We've had enough problems today. That one will just have to wait until tomorrow."

Ringo smiled, "C'mon, let's get back to Rich's before George does."

* * *

James turned his bike into an alley and breaked into the shadows. He stepped off of it and stood back, letting his mind wander as he looked at the bike. It was a nice piece of work, sleek, and black. It fit his mind set. Panicking had been the worst possible thing he could have done in that situation. He should have just stayed there and answered the door. The police didn't really *know* that he was Macca. They had no proof, and without proof, they wouldn't be able to get him. Everyone loved him. He would have been able to get out of it, with a little legal maneuvering and some well placed bribes. But now... he'd run off. He'd acted suspicious. Stupid.

They couldn't have done anything to him before, but now... now he'd practically confessed. They'd known he was home too. A quick police scan would have showed it. So now he was stuck for the duration. James looked around the alley. He needed to disappear, fast. He needed to find a place where people didn't watch the news, didn't know about the latest development. It was impossible to assume, even wishfully, that there might be somewhere where no one would recognize him. Luckily, he had a disguise.

What he had to do was find a rural neighborhood.

Somewhere that was quiet.

Dull.

Somewhere where really stupid people lived.

He'd say he was conducting a survey, new to the neighborhood, lost... anything. He just had to get in somewhere private. Then.. James patted a holster with a loaded gun that he had in the side pack of his bike... then he'd be able to get in control if he had to. He'd be able to handle things. James gunned the engine and drove down the street, with his silencer on the engine as high as possible. No reason to attract extra attention.

* * *

Ringo and John walked down the walk to Rich's front door, having rode the public transport home. They walked in. Ringo settled down in the parlor, reading a book of Rich's. It was kind of interesting to him. After all, Ringo thought, the man does have nearly the same mind as me, doesn't he? Just when Ringo was starting to really get into the story, he heard soft guitar music coming from somewhere else in the house. Ringo got up, curiously wondering if John was playing the radio, or if they had a radio here. He finally found the source of the music, Rich's den. John was sitting on the bed playing guitar. Ringo paused, and John stopped playing and looked up.

"The Porto couldn't sing for me," John said, by way of explanation,"It's a shame. Music is the purest form of prayer. That's why I learned how to play. I suppose this sounds odd, but it became like voice to me, moreso even than the Porto."

* * *

Seconds later, James McCartney drove his bike down the street and parked under a tree. After disguising himself, he walked over to Rich's house and knocked on the door.

on to Chapter 10

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