Pump Up The Volume - Part II: Talk Hard

(Disclaimer: This work is based on the 1990 film, "Pump Up The Volume", starring Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis. The rights to all characters, previous plot lines and references to that film belong to Allan Moyle and New Line Cinema. The following story is fan fiction and my original work.)

Chapter 1

Mark Hunter waited quietly in the visitor's area, his hands cuffed together before him, resting in his lap. He'd been directed to a lone, metal chair in the corner of the room by a uniformed guard and then left to sit in silence. The table before him was bare, devoid of any color, and rested awkwardly on four crooked metal legs. The walls around him were a pale, whitewashed blue. Only one window allowed any sunlight inside, but it was so high above him, that he wouldn't have been able to see outside, even if he was standing. Two, thin fluorescent lights flickered above him. This was a depressing room, Mark thought. Fits the mood perfectly.

Voices on the other side of the closed door caused him to turn his head to the left for a brief moment, but as the voices faded away, he resumed his blank stare at the table. He hadn't been told who was there to visit him, and to be honest, he really didn't care. His parents had already been to the facility to see him a few times. Each time was increasingly incriminating instead of supportive. They wouldn't even provide legal counsel for him. His assigned lawyer had met with him twice as well. He was an older man, probably in his mid-50's, who seemed more concerned about getting home to his sitcoms than he was in helping what he felt to be just another juvenile delinquent. Only he wasn't just any juvenile delinquent. He was an influential one.

As far as he could tell, and it really wasn't too clear to him yet exactly what the charges were, he was being held in custody for his participation in the suicide death of a fellow student in his High School, Malcolm Kaiser. Not because he had been running a pirate radio station for the past 6 months. Yes, Happy Harry was being labeled as a murderer. Mark smiled sadly and shook his head. He never said "don't do it". Funny, he thought to himself. I've always had a witty tongue and knew just what to say. I always knew when not to talk too. But, I couldn't say those three very important words. His eyes drifted down to the handcuffs around his wrists. He thought of three other important words that he said so often: So be it.

What he did know however, was that he could stand to serve a significant amount of time in prison if he was found guilty in perpetrating Malcolm's death, according to his despondent lawyer, Farley. Mark laughed. Farley. He wondered if his first name was Charles. That was the name he put the post office box under. Charles U. Farley. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but what it really boiled down to was that he was a smart ass. It still seemed like a good idea. Farley claimed to have listened to the recordings of that night's broadcast. The night Mark had called Malcolm in response to a letter he had received, in said post office box, asking for his advice. Malcolm wanted to know if he should kill himself. Mark suddenly got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not too dissimilar to the feeling he got when Malcolm hung up on him just as he was beginning to understand that Malcolm's cry for help was genuine. He tried to call back of course, but the phone was off the hook. He realized now that he should have immediately contacted the police, but then his gig would be up. And perhaps Malcolm wasn't so genuine after all. But he was. And now he sat here, cuffed and alone. His father made sure that he understood that anything he might have to endure right now was nothing compared to what Malcolm's family was going through. Mark let out a deep breath. Maybe his father was right.

It seemed that the only person in the world who was concerned about him was the "eat me, beat me lady", Nora Diniro. He found himself strangely attracted to her. She wasn't like other girls. Mark wanted to slap himself for thinking a thought as cliché as that. But, it was true. He'd tried talking to other girls. He even approached Paige Woodward, but something wasn't right. Nora called his bluff and she called it well. She was something most girls weren't. Herself. Like it or not. He was attracted to her before he even met her. Her rough, unpolished words rivaled his own. She knew how to talk hard. Talk hard. Those were the last words he said before they were hauled off to jail. He could still hear the cheers of well-meaning teens his age filtering in from the outside, Nora sitting close to him, holding his hand. Her face was alive and her eyes were bright. She leaned into him and kissed him long and hard. Never before had he felt so happy and scared at the same time. After they arrived here, they were separated and he still didn't know what had become of her.

A sharp knock at the door snapped him back to attention. He turned in time to see it open. A man's head poked in from the other side.

"Mr. Hunter? Mark Hunter?" he said.

"The one and only," Mark replied.

The man opened the door the rest of the way and stepped through. He appeared to be in his early 30's with dark brown hair combed back and parted neatly on the left. He wore a clean, dark suit and tie. In his hand was a folder with a string around it. He carried in with him an air of self-assurance and confidence. Realizing there were no other chairs to be seen, he tossed the folder down on the table and quickly exited the room. Mark didn't have to wait long before he reappeared with another chair just like the one he was sitting on. The man closed the door behind him and sat down at the table. He unwound the string and opened the folder.

"Mr. Hunter, we have a problem."

Mark huffed. "No shit".

"Your illegal radio activities have…"

"Just hold up there for a second," Mark interrupted, leaning forward. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't really matter, Mr. Hunter."

"Oh, I think it does matter if you expect me to cooperate with you."

The man smirked and leaned back into his chair. "Frankly, Mr. Hunter, you're in no position to…"

"And if you continue to insist that it doesn't matter," Mark interrupted again, "then I'll be going back to my cell now and you can talk to my lawyer, and he can listen to your bullshit."

The man slowly sat up and his smirk faded away. "Are you always this outspoken?"

"I'm a teenage, pirate radio DJ named Happy Harry Hard-On, accused of being subversive. What do you think?"

Despite himself, the man laughed and relaxed. "You're right. Introductions would be good. My name is Alex Forthright. I'm an ADA, and I've been assigned to your case."

"Forthright?" Mark laughed. "Well, you certainly are that. And you say you're an ADA. What is that…Assistant DA? I must have really stirred up some kind of hornet's nest if the District Attorney's office sent you here to see me. Was Malcolm a relative of the governor or something?"

"Not exactly, Mr. Hunter."

"Just call me, Happy Harry."

Alex smiled. "I think we'll just keep things the way they are, shall we?"

"What do you want Mr. Assistant DA?"

"We need your help."

Mark blinked and his mouth opened slightly. "You need my help?" Inwardly, he smiled. He had a bargaining chip now. For what, he didn't know, but he knew that as long as they needed his help with something, he could compromise. "I'm listening."

"After your capture, dozens of others followed your advice and seized the air. In the last two months since you've been in here, we've actually lost count of how many are broadcasting. You really sparked something, Mr. Hunter. And," Alex paused, "you're something of a legend among your peers in the state of Arizona."

Mark made no effort to hide his self-indulgent smile. "No longer just a legend in my own mind. So, what is it you need my help with? I can't stop them from broadcasting. Why don't you do what they did to me? Contact the FCC and have them get a fix on your problem?"

Alex pulled his chair closer and leaned in. "They are already working on it. However, emerging at the top of the list is a DJ who calls himself, The Voice of Choice. His broadcasts are not exactly…uplifting."

"What do you mean?"

Alex's face grew taut and he leaned even further in. "This renegade DJ encourages his listeners to," and then lowering his voice, "rebel against any and all authority. To conform to inconformity. To destroy everything around them that causes dependency."

Mark half-smiled. "I'm sorry, Alex, but these are exactly the same things that they said I was doing. And though I might have said to find your own belonging and become your own person, I never once encouraged defiance. He sounds like me."

"Really? Have you ever told your listeners to steal? Have you ever persuaded them to vandalize?" Alex brought his voice down to a near whisper. "Have you ever commanded them to kill?"

Mark felt his body shiver. "No. Never."

"This DJ has. And guess what? His listeners are listening."

"Murder?"

"Not yet, thank God. But with the escalated reports of damaged and missing property, we believe that isn't going to be too far around the corner. We need to put the clamps on this guy before something really terrible happens."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You're not with the District Attorney's office, are you? You're not even with the FCC. I suspect you're with the FBI. Tell me I'm wrong."

Alex swallowed hard. "Yes. You're right. Perhaps it would be best if we laid all the cards out on the table. Not much gets by you, does it?"

"Okay, Alex. Why me? Where's the connection to me?"

"The Voice used to be one of your devoted listeners. He's even made reference to some of your past broadcasts. Things you've said, people you've talked to. Like you, he uses a voice disguiser. And like you, he begins his show at 10 pm, on the dot. He moves around a lot. We're not sure if he's mobile while he broadcasts, but he never broadcasts from the same place twice in a row, and his shows are never the same length. We think he might have friends helping him out. He also will not broadcast two nights in row. There may be 2, 3 or sometimes even up to 5 days between his broadcasts. He's very clever," Alex said. Then raising an eyebrow, "Maybe even more clever than you…Happy Harry."

"I can understand your dilemma, but I have no idea what you want me to do about it."

"You are his idol, his inspiration. We need you to get close to him. He would trust you. And then, we need you to turn him in. Before he kills someone," Alex said with finality.

Mark didn't know what to make of this. He wasn't even sure if he could believe it. "I…I'm sorry. But this is all just a little bit much…and besides, I'm technically a minor. Isn't it against the law to ask something like this of me?"

Alex smiled hard. "Not by next Thursday, you won't be. You turn 18. As for the rest of it, listen to this and make up your own mind." Alex reached inside his jacket and produced a small tape player and set it down on the table's surface. "Just listen." He pressed the "play" button.

"…everybody knows the dice are loaded. We are all pawns of a greater, secret society created to manipulate us into slavery. Slavery to conformity and predetermined futures. We have no voice of our own. No choice but what they give us. That is why I am the Voice. The Voice of Choice…the same voice that echoes deep inside each and every one of you.

Listen to your voice. Follow it to its logical conclusion. Break free from your invisible chains and dare to stand against ANYONE who says you can't or you won't. Never again will you be their slave. You are a warrior. A bringer of justice. Decisive justice!

I say, rise up against them and stab them with your plastic forks! Rise up against them and tear away from them all that they hold dear. Death to all hypocrites! Death to authority. Kill them. Kill them before they kill your spirit. Open them up and spill their blood…the dark and polluted blood of anyone who stands in your way. Let their blood flow freely. Only in this way will you ever be free…"

Alex reached over and stopped the recording. Mark's face had gone pale.

"It gets worse," Alex said softly, studying Mark's reactions.

"That…was not…good," Mark said.

"No. It's not. Did any of that sound familiar to you?"

"A couple of the things he said, yes."

"Which parts?"

"I used to play Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen at the opening of all my shows. In the song was a lyric that he mentioned at the beginning of your tape, that everybody knows the dice are loaded."

"Anything else?"

Mark straightened himself up in his seat. "I once said that we should all rise up in the cafeterias of our schools and stab our guidance counselors and teachers with plastic forks. He made reference to that in there. But, I swear to you, I never meant to encourage actual murder. I spoke metaphorically. What I was saying was, we need to avoid those who would take advantage of us at this age. To know that we are real people, not just kids. When I was listening to that recording though, he was dark. Ominous. Militant. Far and away from my meaning when I said it."

Alex sat silently for a moment. The he sat upright. "I believe you, Mark."

Mark let out a small breath of relief. "Thank you."

"You can see why we need you now, right?"

"Yes," Mark nodded slowly. "I guess I can."

"He is a real threat. Will you help us?"

"I hate to sound selfish here, but what am I getting in return for my help?"

"The State of Arizona and the parents of Malcolm Kaiser have agreed to drop all charges against you if you help us capture this lunatic. You'll be a free man, with a clean slate. You can start over again fresh. And this time, hopefully, you'll make better decisions with your life."

Mark shifted nervously. This was not going to be so easy. He wasn't even sure what he could do to search this guy out. But a clean slate? Fresh start? It was too good to turn down. Except….

"I'll do it. Only if Nora Diniro is also cleared of all charges and allowed to be free," Mark said.

"Done." Alex stood up and closed his folder. He placed his tape player back into his inner pocket. "I'll get the paperwork started. You'll be released today. Time is of the essence. Your father is aware of the circumstances, and has agreed to cooperate with us in this matter as well. Beyond that, please do not share this information with anybody. Anybody. This is completely dependant on secrecy. I cannot stress this enough."

"What about, Nora? She can help me."

"I figured you might say that. She's waiting just outside in the hallway. Why don't you two talk it over and see what she wants to do?"

Alex walked over and placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Remember, this is no small thing we are asking of you. Take it seriously."

Mark solemnly nodded.

Alex turned and exited the room. A guard walked in and removed the handcuffs from him. The guard then turned and left. Mark rubbed his sore wrists. He'd just gotten over the shock of being arrested. And now this. Was this all really happening?

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw movement in the doorway. He turned to see Nora standing there, biting her lip. Her eyes were tearing up. Mark stood up to face her with a nervous smile. Nora returned his smile and walked up to him and held him close, her head nestled into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in a tight embrace. Before he knew it, he was tearing up too.

to be continued…