By the end of the year, Murdoc has disbanded Kiss'n'Makeup. It just wasn't working, and he didn't see why he should continue trying to beat what he considered to be, a dead horse. May as well just put it out of his misery and move on. But he did learn a lot from the experience. So in his mind it wasn't a total loss. Better luck next time. He still hadn't worked out what that one little niggling detail he was sure, given enough time and accumulated experience, it'd come to him. It had to. He'd worked far too hard on this to let it go so easily. He'd solved his money problems, by getting himself a job in Telesales. And with his ability to talk people into almost anything, was doing really, really well to. But this wasn't what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Sitting in an office, selling people things they don't need over the phone. Even if he was good at it. So every opportunity he got, he worked on another way to get a real band together. Eventually he just had to come across the right mix, and solve all his problems at once. The only good thing about the job. Was that it took him away from prostitution. That certainly did make him happier. His brother had made a few off the cuff remarks that sent chills of fear down his spine. Hannibal despised gay men, and had told him that he and his band of skin head friends, had beaten a few gay men up with baseball bats and lead pipes. Murdoc cringed at the thought of his brother walking down an alley one night, and catching him in a compromising position with another man. Hannibal hated him enough already. 'If he ever caught me, he'd kill me. No doubt about it.' He shudders and reminds himself for the hundredth time that day. 'I'm not gay!' Then dials another number from his list.
Murdoc eventually gathered together another group of people. One more try at getting a band together, for the growing list. Who knows? Maybe this time he'll pull it off? He sits back on the lounge and watches a potential guitarist. Who was going through the motions trying hard to impress him. Murdoc nods at the guy as he finishes, and adds his name to the list in front of him. Enough with the guitarists. Now he turns his attention to looking for a drummer. He's already got a name for the new band in mind this time. And it fits perfectly with the image he wants to put out. Muscular men in tight pants. Bullworker. No woman could possibly resist. Once the band is gathered. Murdoc runs them through the motions, whipping them into tight shape and making sure they understand how all of this is going to work. In other words, his way or else. He grabs hold of some very pretty girls, and puts them all in tiny mini skirts. Paying them to hand out leaflets, and inviting people to come to the show and see the band perform. This time the band does get a fair amount of attention. And it's also becoming more and more obvious that Murdoc is indeed learning. He certainly has what it takes to draw the crowds in. It's keeping them there and having them come back, that was his problem. That nagging detail is still there. Damn! But at least this time he has a small audience. For now that'll do him just fine.
His musical tastes have moved into many varying areas. But Murdoc is not the sort of person, who just likes a song because it has a catchy tune. Or because the lyrics are interesting. Murdoc really, really listens. He singles out each individual instrument in his mind. Taking note of how it interacts with the instruments around it. Concentrating on the whole structure of the song, by slowly pulling it apart instrument by instrument, till only the song itself is left. Then slowly putting it back together again. He's still learning. Soaking it all up like a sponge, and adopting similar techniques to artists that impress him. Taking the parts that work, and putting them together in a way that suits his needs and tastes. And for the audience, it did show. They were often heard commenting about how great the song was. Pity the singer has such a crap voice. 'WHAT!? How dare they?' His voice was unique. An acquired taste for people who actually had some idea what talent was. Morons. He wasn't doing it for them anyway. What he needed was for people who really understood all this, to finally bother to 'TURN UP!' He scoured the room every performance. Hoping to catch a glimpse of a record producer, hiding somewhere in the shadows. But after each show, there was still no sign of them. Yet!
Once again his drug habit began to take over his finances, and he was back to stealing anything that wasn't nailed down. He'd occasionally found himself thinking that he'd lost control of it. But would quickly shake the thought off, and ignore the growing feeling of helplessness. He was in control. He was in control of everything and everyone around him. Nothing moved with out his approval or say so. He was a God! So why did he feel so....? 'Nice ashtray'. He takes it and puts it in his jacket pocket. 'Eh?' It might bring him a couple of quid down the second hand place? His police record was beginning to look more and more like a novelette. And the judge was becoming tired of looking at him. Something about the way the judge pointed at him when Murdoc walked into the court room. And instead of waiting to hear the charges brought against him. Instantly brought down his gavel and shouted. "GUILTY! Now get out!" Well. That was one way to save time. Speedy trial. Instant guilty verdict. Just enough time to get thrown in the cells for a quick snooze, before being thrown out again in the morning. He had better things to do anyway.
A whole year had sailed by without notice from the young man. Till he found himself laying on top of yet another strange girl, in another strange hotel room. She lifts her head and hiccups in his face. Saying Happy New Year, before kissing him and passing out again. 'Happy New Year? I hardly noticed the last one?' He thinks to himself as he withdraws his member from her, and sits on the edge of the bed searching for his underwear. He stops for a moment and looks back at the unconscious girl, then down to his still erect penis. 'Eh? Might as well give her one fer the New Year. Heh, heh.' He smiles evilly and climbs back on top of the girl. Giving her a quick shag and finishing up, before she wakes up and complains about it. Conscious or unconscious. He didn't care. If she was stupid enough to open her legs for him. Then Murdoc was certainly going take what he can from her before leaving. The need to prostitute himself being the driving force behind this. His larger need to take the feeling of those dirty men away. He quietly gets dressed, pockets her purse, and heads out of the room. Making his way down stairs to the lobby in search of a newspaper, he still isn't quite sure of the date. A wants to at least know what year it is. She was very, very drunk after all. He sees a newspaper on a small table by the front door, and makes his way over to it. January 1st 1987. 'Ack! No wonder I'm tired.' He grimaces and sniffs his armpit. He hasn't had any real sleep or bathed in at least a month. Or is it two? He scratches his head and tries to work it out. But only winds up making his eyes hurt. So he gives up and walks out of the building and onto the footpath, to hail a taxi. Climbing in he gives the driver his address. Time to go home. Back to his dads. His room. And the El Diablo. He'd made a point of giving his dad a little extra, to stop the old man breaking into his room. The idea of him finding the Bass and selling it off for booze money, makes Murdoc shudder. Something told the young man that the man down below, would be a bit more than miffed if that happened. So by making sure he always gave his dad a bit extra, he had so far ensured the guitars safety. He'd hardly spoken to the old man in ages, and they had gotten along pretty reasonably because of it. His brother on the other hand. Well that was a different story altogether.
It took Hannibal asking him if he could borrow Murdoc s car, before the young man even remembered he even owned one. Oh yeah? It took him three weeks to remember where he'd left it. Of course by the time he got there, it was a burned out shell. He stares at it a while and starts thinking about whether he really needed one or not? Not really. If he didn't even remember having one up to now? Obviously not. Besides. He saved money by not having one. No fuel, insurance, registration to pay. Much better financially for him. He waves it off and heads back to his friends car. If he desperately needed one. He could just steal it. Not a problem. Another charge to add to his growing list of charges. Auto theft. Can't say he's too predictable really. 'Back to jail. And out again. Weee! What fun. Heh, heh.' He chuckles as the judge fumes at him from the front of the room.
Murdoc finds himself down the local health centre again. This was becoming a bit of a second home to him as well. His huge sexual appetite meant that he was constantly at risk of various sexually transmitted diseases. He'd had almost every one by now. Sometimes he'd think about wearing a condom. But by the time he remembered he'd often already of finished, and was getting dressed again. He wriggles uncomfortably in his seat, as he fights the urge to scratch his burning crotch. 'Herpes maybe? Definitely pubic lice again. That's for sure.' He thinks and crosses his legs. A small child comes over with snot pouring down it's face. Murdoc wrinkles his nose in disgust at it, as the little boy scrambles up on to the bench beside him. 'Yearch! That has to be the worst sexually transmitted disease you could get. Fuck off and die you little toe rag!' He snarls in his mind, pulling away and sliding further down the bench from the sticky child. Murdoc has never liked small children. Except when he made them cry. Then he liked them a lot. He stops and wonders how many he must have by now? 'Hundreds. Has to be in the hundreds. If my little swimmers are as persistent as I am. Then most definitely hundreds'. And he'll be sure to deny every one of them. He half smiles as he uncomfortably crosses his legs the other way. He shoots a quick look at the sticky child and sighs. Pity he wasn't in a cue. One way Murdoc knew of getting to the head of a cue in a hurry. Was to secretly smack the child of the woman in front of him. So long as she had one. The kid would start screaming and she would be forced to take it outside to calm it down. He did love doing that. He'd smack this kid. But he was a bit concerned that with all the crap pouring out of it's head. Surely it would get stuck to him, and he'd never get rid of it. Besides. The mum kept looking at him funny. He suddenly gets a brilliant idea and stands up. Plunging his hand down the front of his jeans, he starts scratching his crotch vigorously.
"Ack! Bloody pubic lice! They don' half itch don' they?" He complains loudly so the woman can hear him. She stares wide eyed at him and stands up, quickly walking over and grabbing her child. Moving him and herself to the other side of the room. Murdoc smiles deviously and sits down again. Much happier for the solitude. He picks up a magazine and begins to flip through the pages. Article upon article driving home just how bored he is. Quickly his annoyance at the magazine starts to show, made worse by the fact that the crossword has already been filled in. He tosses it back on the table and slides lazily down in the chair. Folding his arms over his chest, and making various silly noises with his tongue and cheeks. The woman looks over at him and rolls her eyes. Murdoc doesn't care though. Other peoples feelings about the things he does in this kind of situation, tend never to register very highly to him. Why should he care how she feels? She's nobody and he's obviously way more important. Besides! He's bored and just wants to get this over and done with. He has things to do. People to see. And some of them he wants to see naked. Boring! Snore. "If that bloody doctor don't hurry up. I might just sit here and start giving me little visitors names!" He snarls, pointing at his lap. The woman at first gives him a look of disgust. But it slowly turns into a smirk, as she tries to hide her amusement at his comment. 'Heh, heh. I still got it.' He grins. Finally the nurse walks around the corner and calls his name. He stands and follows her from the waiting room, and into the doctors office. Half an hour later he comes out again with a prescription for antibiotics and a spray. He heads off down to the chemist none too concerned. Just something else to add to his list of things that irritate him the most.
That night. Murdoc is sitting on the edge of the stage after a rather brilliant performance. The audience, small as it may of been, had seemed to really enjoy the show. That had really put the young man in a pretty good mood, and he was now charming the pants off a star struck young girl, who'd been making eyes at him from the front of the stage. This was what he'd been waiting for all his life. That kind of adoration. The way the fans look at you, as though you were the most perfect thing in their whole rotten little existence. He was a God after all and she was proof of that. She grips his leg tightly and smiles at him, telling him how wonderful she thought he was. Of course I am. His confidence grows with each passing second. A mere taste of the acclaim he knows he will one day have all to himself. He grins at her and invites her to join him back stage in the dressing room. She nods and quickly clambers up on to the stage, taking his hand as he leads her across it and towards the back. They make their way into the dressing room and Murdoc checks to see that they're alone. Satisfied, he locks the door and moves over to the girl. His eyes shining with lust. He grabs her roughly and pushes her back against the wall. She reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, kissing him deeply as he lifts her up onto his hips and sliding his hands under her skirt, pulling at her knickers. Once again far too engrossed in his needs to remember where he had been that morning at what he was suppose to remember to do. He fumbles at his fly and soon is pounding his way inside her. She yelps a little and grips at his back, digging her fingers into the flesh. All his frustrations. All his irritations and annoyances. All those people who doubted him and his unique talent. Every sonuvabitch who ever brought him close to tears. Stroke after stroke he pushes it away from himself and into this star struck girl. One more victim of Murdoc s insane bid for power and glory. She quickly begins to realize he's a bit more than she can handle, and cries out in pain. His eyes shine with glee at the sound and he closes his eyes, savouring it. His arousal growing even deeper. But he's not dumb. He eases back and kisses her, whispering in her ear and calming her down. Moving her from the wall and over to the lounge, giving her a chance to relax again and let him have what he wants. She isn't going to escape him now. He won't allow it. He runs his hands up and down her body. As she lays there panting and unsure if she wants him to continue. He purrs at her and coos her into submission. Slowly building her trust again. She smiles and takes him back into her arms. He enters her again and this time he eases back. Rape is not exactly something he wants on his record. But many of the girls he's been with, could say he came pretty close at times.
Back at work the next morning. Murdoc is ticking off another name from his list. Last night was good. But he's sure he can do much better. Little audiences were not what he wanted. Huge sell out crowds. That was where the real money was and he knew it was just a matter of time before he had it. Bullworker was great. But not perfect. He almost had the right feel and the right chemistry. He just needed a band who could utilize his voice. They obviously didn't have enough talent to do that, and that's why it didn't sound right. His talent was once again being wasted on ingrates and he needed to fix that, and soon. He sighs and picks up his list, vaguely reading off the names and turning the page. Maybe with a new line up and better equipment? Could he afford that right now? He stands up and decides to take a break, waving someone over to take his place at the phones. Walking through the building, he makes his way to a little court yard outside, and takes out a cigarette. He'd been paying attention to how the music industry had been feeling lately. It was building for a change. New tastes were creeping in and he'd wondered if perhaps this was the next thing to adopt? Maybe? Worth a look anyway. He draws on his cigarette and looks up at the sky. A new wave on the horizon. Time for change. Time to move on. The last thing he needed was to be caught out, and not be on top of this when it happened. The first bands who are there to carry out the musical mood swing, are often the ones best remembered. If he could just figure out what it was, and be the one who changes it? Then surely the industry would dive at the chance to sign him up. He smiles and ashes his cigarette. The decision has been made. Time for Murdoc to start again.