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“I can help,” Micky said.
Darlene lowered herself into a chair in front of the monitor. “You can?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.
“Yeah, well not me personally, but I know a really great computer guy. A genius in fact.”
Before Darlene could reply, Micky cut across her. “No, listen. The guy’s amazing. This stuff –” he swept a hand around the room – “is cool, don’t get me wrong, but in the recording studio I use some really hi-tech gear too, and my buddy … well, he works for me actually … is the biz.”
Darlene took a deep breath and put up her hands. “Well great, Micky. I’d appreciate any help I can get. What’s your colleague’s name?”
“Software Sam. I’ll send him over.”
There was a sound from the doorway. Hemi was filling almost the entire space. Darlene and Micky could just see Johnny trying to get a view of the room over the Maori’s shoulder.
Micky came out of the lab and shook hands with Johnny. “Good to see you again, dude. So what’s new?”
Johnny nodded to Darlene who smiled back as if to say, “We’re done here.”
But Micky hadn’t finished. He turned back and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for showing me this,” he said and waved at the room. “Fantastic! I’ll get in touch with Sam …”
And he was gone, Darlene just staring after him.
Chapter 43
“SO HOW CAN I help?” Micky began.
They were in Johnny’s small office at the end of the corridor. Johnny had called him the night before. This was the earliest the singer could make it.
“Micky, you claim Graham Parker wants you killed because you’re apparently worth more dead than alive.”
“Correct.”
“But that would imply that he is either very greedy or has money troubles.”
“Well, course he’s greedy, Johnny. He’s a businessman. Only thinks about dollars and cents.”
“Yeah, but why didn’t you tell us he filed for bankruptcy in the States?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t really see why it was important.”
Johnny gazed into his eyes and counted to three before responding. “Well of course it is.” He glanced over to Hemi who had sunk into a sofa at the back of the room, same fixed expression as always.
“God, this is all so fucked up!” Micky exclaimed and put his head down for a moment. “You got a drink, man?”
Johnny pulled up from behind his desk, left the room for a few seconds and returned with a bottle and a glass. He handed them to Micky, who stared at the label.
“Do you know anything about his finances, Micky?” Johnny asked. “He must know all about yours. Does it only go one way?”
Micky took a swig from the bottle, held it at arm’s length. “Good shit.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Johnny said. “I don’t drink.”
“Lucky you.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow.
“No, I mean it. Wish I didn’t have to …”
