A/N: - Lyrics credited to Carl Perkins as sung by Elvis Presley - the last part is partially translated from Marino speak into C S Forester. This chapter is co written by another writer called Kristine.
They were all quiet on the way to the airport, Marino because he was tired after his trip round the tower of London, and Kay and George because neither was sure how to bid the other goodbye. When Kay and Marino had checked in their bags and received their boarding passes, they walked with George as far as the barrier where she would be forced to leave them. Putting his arms round George in an uncharacteristic display of affection, Marino said,
"Take care of yourself, sweetheart, and don't let the ass-holes get you down, specially."
"I'll take your advice to the letter," she told him with a smile. "And if you ever come to give evidence in a British courtroom, I'm sure that Kay will want to try to coach you as to how to behave, so please allow her to do so."
"That's all I need," Marino replied in offended dignity. But when Kay stepped forward to give George a tentative hug, she looked sad.
"When will you go through the medical records?" George found herself asking. Kay had talked of the case waiting for her when she got back to Virginia and George very kindly sought to at least appear positive for her.
"Probably not until the weekend," Kay admitted ruefully. "I'll have quite a lot to catch up on when I get back."
"Do you really think it's possible that the fingerprint was manufactured in some way?" George asked.
"I learned a long time ago that anything's possible when it comes to the committing of crime," Kay replied philosophically. "So I'll wait and see. If there's something there to be found, I'll find it."
Marino was dog tired as he sat back in the 747 that would take him back to the life he knew. The familiar stomach jerking pull as the aircraft climbed up steeply into the air, greedy for height, told him that he was leaving England but his overloaded senses told him differently. Conveniently, his seat was right next to the window so he could look down on the countryside below. There below him, was a neat patchwork quilt of fields and woods and little roads with the occasional nearly straight line gashing its way through the countryside, the universal motorway. Just before the aircraft flew into that fluffy white bank of cloud, he saw the map of South Wales in all its cragged convolutions. When they had got to their full cruising altitude, Marino lost interest and he turned to talk to Kay.
"Well, doc. That was quite some stay in England." Marino said with masterful understatement.
"We'll be back someday, Marino and we'll get to meet a lot of people like George."
Marino smiled at the good news. This wasn't some one-off treat in his lifetime.
"George is quite some lady. I'll miss her cooking."
Kay refrained from making any comment, as she was weary. There was nothing more for her mind to occupy itself with and the journey, allowing for the five-hour time zone change was going to be a long one. The low hum, the feeling of suspension and the subdued lighting all had a gently soporific effect on them both.
Marino floated effortlessly, suspended in space and, right below him was a concert. Not that high-class violin scraping classical stuff, but a real group on stage and an audience of screaming girls. As he drew nearer, the guy out front was one of those pretty boys with long greased back ducktail haircut and a pink jacket that was way too big for him. He carried a guitar and was wiggling his hips like crazy, getting the girls going. It couldn't be, he couldn't believe it ............it was his all time hero, Elvis Presley, alive and well again. Well, today was a weird kind of day, all those suits of armour and guns from way back in time so why shouldn't he be at an Elvis Presley concert? Didn't know how he got here but what the hell. He just wanted to float on down there and be part of it.
It gradually dawned on him that he could do just that and not be just some dumb spectator. He was sure tempted to be Elvis but his sense of reality forced him to pass up the chance. The guy was a trucker, right enough, but his taste in clothes was a bit too fancy for him. It wasn't his style and he couldn't manage all that jiggling about though he could just about thrash his acoustic, same way as him.
He looked to one side and a regular country guy was picking out neat guitar licks from that shiny electric guitar. It had to be Scotty Moore. He ducked out of that one, as it was way too tricky for him.
He couldn't figure out how to play all that fancy stuff all night. His fingers were just too big and stiff to twiddle their way round those frets on his guitar. He'd fluff his solos, that's for sure. He looked at the guy at the back who was bashing hell out of the drums but he was too far back to be of interest. Besides, D J Fontana sounded a funny kinda name.
Last of all, a big built guy was plucking hell out of that big stand up bass. That was more his line and the guy looked like him. Those pumping bass lines ain't too tricky and that's what made it rock and roll. The guy was Bill Black, a tough no nonsense name, and he looked as if he was having one hell of a good time.
Suddenly, he was down there on stage and his left hand fingers made all the right shapes without screwing up his fingers while his right hand fingers plucked away at those heavy strings. Those bass sounds vibrated through his body as he moved about on stage to the rhythm. He grinned to DJ who pounded the drums just so. It was true, rock and roll is here to stay. The boy's edgily controlled rock and roll singing summoned them to jump right in with him for the next song.
"You can burn my house,
Steal my car,
Drink
my liquor
From an old fruit jar.
Do anything that you want to
do, but uh-uh,
Honey, lay off of my shoes
Don't you step on my
blue suede shoes.
You can do anything but lay off of my blue
suede shoes
But don't you step on my blue suede shoes.
You
can do anything but lay off of my Blue suede shoes.
He always stretched out that song, didn't he, with that final endlessly repeated chorus, singing with his soul on fire. All the guys were right behind him and weren't no slouches either. While he was singing and playing, Bill nailed down that backbeat right along with DJ's rock solid drumming. Scotty sure as hell played a mean sounding guitar which went around and around in his head. Nothing deterred us from the task in hand and even though they were dead beat, things were looking up for the band. Next stop was a couple hundred miles down the road to another concert, endlessly traveling in a van south of the Mason Dixon line, jam packed in there with the drums, guitar cases and amplifiers and leads.
Blue blue, blue suede shoes, baby
Blue blue, blue suede shoes, baby
You can do anything but lay off of my Blue suede shoes."
Right through the concert, a wall of adoring female fans went wild. Mostly, they crowded round the stage and when the song finally swung to a close, the house exploded with squeals of excitement. It was now that they really felt what a commotion their music had generated in the audience. Their music really took everyone on a trip, sure enough. If they couldn't please themselves, they couldn't please their audience. That's how they figured it but they had more than that, they had real fans.
While Elvis gyrated center stage, Bill was well to the side of the stage and he couldn't help but notice the very pretty blonde with her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She wore a low cut, highly revealing top and a flared skirt. Her face was lit with excitement and while the boy did the remote untouchable routine despite the cocky grin on his face, her soft eyes looked knowingly into his own, not Elvis's. There was a glance of recognition and those well-shaped lips smiled at him. As he focused in on her, he realized with a shock of recognition that it was George. She winked at him, turned around and strolled nonchalantly away, her skirt swirling. It was one of those chance encounters in life on the road.
Back in the dressing room as the boys changed into casual clothes, Elvis picked up a local newspaper, glanced at the headline, laughed at it in a contemptuous way and tossed it across to Bill.
"Elvis Presley is morally insane," the headlines screamed.
'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard from a so-called adult," he snorted contemptuously to Bill.
"Well, the kids like us, Elvis. That punk don't matter. We'll make it big some day, just you wait and see."
They had no time to lose. The four of them humped the gear into the back of their vehicle and were off down the road to the next gig. While Elvis took the wheel, Bill slumped sideways next to DJ's bass drum and, despite its uncomfortable shape, he dozed off. It had been a long day for all of them…………..
He floated effortlessly, suspended in space and, right below him lay the blue green ocean stretching away to infinity. The wind blew endless rows of furrows gently over the water and there, right below them was an old-fashioned three-masted, fighting warship of the Tudor era. It wasn't some hulking overloaded galleon but a trim fighter of a vessel, with a line of gun ports down each side that meant business. The fore and main topsails were drawn in tight while the triangular sail on the mizzen mast balanced the steering nicely. There, down on the quarterdeck, the bearded captain stood with his evident air of authority. There was something about the man's air that made him want to be him. To his delight, it suddenly occurred to him that he had that chance. This was a lifetime's unbelievable good fortune. He would once again relive history, this time another one that he had recently got to admire from afar.
Feelings of grandeur sustained Marino's good feelings about himself. He wasn't some overweight policeman divorced from his wife and with a no-good son whom he didn't even want to talk to the Doc about. After all, was he not Francis Drake, the terror of the Spanish Main? His feet were planted on his quarterdeck, his hands gripping the rail while the mizzen sail curved tautly behind him, the Queen's flag fluttering from the top of the mast. The salt spray stung his bronzed cheeks from months at sea. He felt good about himself, and about those he commanded.
The good ship "Golden Hind" was one of England's finest warships, which more than held its own even in the full fury of half a gale. In calm winds, it slipped cleanly through the water. He was out on an independent command and could take on any enemy ship that came his way. His ship was the lone policeman of the seas, his precinct stretching as far as the horizon stretched. He knew that his country and Spain weren't exactly at war but that hadn't stopped his ship being directly commissioned by the Queen to capture as much booty that his ship could hold and take it back to England. What he was doing wasn't exactly legal but he got backing from the very top. The Pope and the King of Spain might not like it but, these days, hey they don't count.
He placed his telescope to his eye and, right on the horizon, he saw the topsails of a ship, which wasn't one of Queen Elizabeth's. The Spanish flag was faint and distinct. He snorted contemptuously of that Spanish captain's belief that he could sneak past him to Cadiz. They reckoned without his sharp eyes.
"Enemy in sight, bearing ninety degrees so jump to it. Shake out the mainsail and foresail and we'll catch him," he shouted.
In their disciplined way, seamen swarmed up the rigging to obey his orders and the ship cut more fiercely through the water. On his order, the helmsman turned the wheel round and round and slowly, the bows turned into the wind. The sails flapped and flailed until the momentum turned the ship onto the other tack. As the sails captured the wind again, the crew hauled in the ropes tight while the mizzen yard slanted the opposite direction and soon caught the wind. Their ship soon gathered pace and was heading straight for the enemy with all the confidence in the world.
Closer and closer they advanced, certain of their purpose. A line of cannons was manned and run out by his trusty men who were trained to diamond-hard professionalism ready for his order. Out here, men were men, and anyone else well they just walked the plank.
They were all set to unleash a storm of red hot metal on the enemy but Captain Drake waited just till the right time. His upstretched arm finally swept down to give the signal to fire. A solid barrage of shot rang out and blue powder smoke puffed back. Immediately the gunners sponged the hot guns and rammed in powder, shot and wadding into the grim barrels ready for the next barrage. In the meantime, shots rang out from the other ship and splinters of wood flew and tatters of split canvas appeared in the main sail but this was nothing. His men scorned such a puny counterattack. The guns were run out again ready to fire and another broadside smashed out.
The battle raged on until to Captain Drake's joy, the other ship's main and fore topmasts suddenly leaned, tottered and fell over the side, trailing wrecked canvas and smashed spars. Their gunfire had knocked half the fight out of the ship as only a few guns were firing back ineffectively.
"Lay her alongside. Prepare to board." He yelled, his voice hoarse and cracked.
The "Golden Hind" closed in and the men threw grappling irons to hook into the splintered sides of the other ship. With an exultant leap, Captain Drake landed on the deck. He pulled out its sword and brandished it menacingly, just as he had always wanted to do. His crew swept in after him and they became an unstoppable force. In no time at all, they seized control of the ship and the remaining crew surrendered, as they knew what was good for them.
The heist had gone off without a hitch and both ship and cargo became theirs, well the property of the English Crown. He climbed down into the hold with his men there they were, what looked like treasure chests, fresh from the Spanish Americas. One of his accomplices broke open the nearest chest and the gold glittered fiercely at them. This was a real haul.
The "Golden Hind" finally sailed up the River Thames, past the formidable fortifications of the Tower of London that he knew so well. Just short of London Bridge, the ship was laid smoothly along the dock and waiting for him, was Queen Elizabeth, resplendent in the richest of flowing gowns and frizzed red hair. One of those pretty boy courtiers helped her climb onto his deck. Bursting with pride, he showed the queen the treasure chest stuffed with doubloons and rare jewels, looted from the American continent until diverted to a better use, what with a little bit of discreet piracy. The Queen's eyes shone with gratitude and a gracious smile spread across her face. For a second, her speaking voice and grand manner reminded him of George but he must have been dreaming. She'd been in the last movie he's seen.
While she was going to scoop the majority of the prize money to feed the British Exchequer, his cut of the booty would handsomely support him. Those were rough and ready times and he needed no crooked lawyer to tell him what was his and what wasn't. The seamen's eyes glittered with pride and anticipation of pleasures to come. Their share of the prize money would be spent on the wine and the women of London town. Are not conquering sailors devilishly attractive to the womankind of the bustling capital city?
Curling his lip like Elvis, Captain Marino stood triumphantly on the quarterdeck of the "Golden Hind", cheered by all his trusty seamen, glad to be back home with overflowing treasure chests. He sneered as much as he grinned at the grand finale scene.
"Errol Flynn, eat your heart out."
Kay was much puzzled by this mumbled remark of Marino's while his eyes were tightly closed. Just at this time, the air flight stewardess came by to serve meals in the usual plastic covering. She was there to dispense drinks as well, which, to her surprise, he disregarded.
"Hey, Doc, bet you didn't know I played bass for Elvis Presley and saved England from the Spaniards?"
Kay looked totally perplexed at him for the first time in her life. Then he shook her head at what she took to be was one of Marino's endless fantasies.
"In your dreams, Marino."
Marino was silent for a moment. It felt so goddamn real and the inside of this aircraft looked kind of pale and washed out in comparison.
"Say Doc, have you ever had a dream come true?" he said at last
"Sorry but no."
"You ain't no fun, Doc," Marino replied disparagingly, lingering over the words. A man can dream, can't he?