Famous Most Wanted

Johnny wasn't drunk. Not as drunk as he could have been, but he didn't want to stay at that party any longer. He just didn't feel like partying suddenly. Johnny threw his smoked cigarette out the open window and pulled into a 24 hour petrol station. He knew you couldn't smoke in these places. He wasn't totally ignorant.

He pulled his Maserati along side a Diesel pump and climbed out. Johnny stood for a moment. It was late at night. It may have even been tomorrow already, Johnny wasn't sure. The night air was crisp and cold. It burnt his lungs and somewhat sharpened his senses. He exhaled, his breath forming into a cloud of vapour before evaporating almost instantly. He may as well have been smoking. Johnny smiled and shook his head.

He walked to the end of his car and opened the petrol cap. He took hold of the black pump and shoved the nozzle in. He firmly squeezed the trigger on the handle and relaxed as his car filled with Diesel. Johnny leant back against the pump, figuring he'd let it fill till it was full. He didn't care, he had all night. In fact, he had all week.

Johnny looked at a notice that had a picture of a mobile phone with a red cross through it. He smirked to himself. He loved rebelling. Even in the most trivial ways. He never turned his phone off, obviously. What bugger did? Not like it would kill someone.

Johnny looked into the petrol station ahead of him. He had to squint. The bright fluorescents made him wish he kept his sunglasses on. There was no one in there but a short guy behind the counter. Johnny's eyes glazed over as he revised every detail of the man, just out of sheer boredom. His hair was a dark brown colour, greying prematurely from stress no doubt. He was no spring chicken, but he wasn't as old as his hair was indicating. Johnny stared at him, unaware his tank was now full.

Then entered two men in sharp suits. Johnny glanced uninterestedly at the pumps around him and noticed no other cars. He looked back at the two men. Why would they be dressed like that at this hour? Johnny figured they just rolled in from an all-nighter at a strip joint. Either that or a gay bar. One had slick back, black hair. Parted very pompously down one side. He had olive skin and a bit of a goatee coming on. Johnny felt his own chin. Stubbly. He wondered a moment how a goatee would look on himself.

The second man was tall and bald. The correct term to describe someone like him, Johnny noted, would be “a brick shit house.” and, hell, he was. He reminded Johnny of a bullfrog. All chin and no neck. Johnny smiled to himself and looked at his car.

'Oh shit,' he muttered. They'd better not charge him extra, he thought. He replaced the pump and shut the petrol cap. He looked back at the men inside the petrol station. They looked like were arguing with the moon faced man behind the till. Johnny looked at the screen on the pump to see what he owed. He raised his eyebrows.

'Fifty quid? You're 'aving a laugh.' He didn't have that amount of cash on him. He sighed. Looked like this one was going on card as well. He sighed. Johnny leant in his car and pulled a credit card out of his wallet before throwing it onto the passenger seat. He shut his door, twiddling the card between his fingers.

Johnny looked up, ready to lock his car and go pay for his petrol fair and square. The men were still arguing. Maybe goatee and bullfrog got over charged too? Johnny locked up his car with automatic locking while goatee pulled a gun out of nowhere and blew the cashier's moon face into a crescent moon. Blood splattered the windows and Johnny dropped to the floor where his jaw sat waiting for him.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!' Johnny panicked to himself. He quickly unlocked his car which made an unhelpful beeping. Johnny glanced through the drivers window to see if it was safe.
No luck. Goatee and bullfrog were looking at the car, clearly hearing the central locking.

'Shit!' Johnny said a lot louder. No point being stealthy. They'd seen him now. Goatee and bullfrog ran for the door, guns in hand, to end this unwanted inconvenience. Johnny jumped in his car and started the engine. He couldn't help but listen a second to the magnificent purr of his Maserati. A bullet cracked his left door mirror and brought him back to reality.

Johnny jumped and stepped on the gas. He sped away from the petrol station and goatee and bullfrog just stood, getting smaller and smaller as they watched him drive away. Johnny looked over his shoulder. No one was following. A wide grin broke his face and he cheered his apparent victory. He couldn't help feel a sense of accomplishment after getting a full tank of petrol and not paying a single penny, not to mention escaping with his life. Johnny liked to rebel in anyway, even if it was by accident.

Johnny felt the need to go out celebrating. He could now spend that fifty quid on something important. Like whiskey and vodka and gin and tequila. He hadn't had that in a while. He fancied a tequila. And he'd go get one, courtesy of Texaco.

***

The two men watched as the Maserati drove away unspoilt. The taller of the two, who lost his hair a long time ago along with his patiences, turned to the smaller one. He was Mexican, he was in charge and he was dangerous, but he was calm. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and took one out, lighting it.

'Did you get the number plate?' asked the taller one. The Mexican guy inhaled and exhaled the smoke before shaking his head.

'No,' he answered simply. 'But I didn't need to . . . that was Johnny Carolina.'

***

Johnny smiled drunkenly at the bartender as he ordered another Tequila. It was his third, after the two gins, four whiskeys, one vodka and several red wines. Johnny wasn't thinking straight. He knew better than anyone not to mix his grape with his grain, but he was celebrating escaping the petrol station with fifty quid and his life.

By closing time, Johnny retreated to his car and collapsed in the back seat. Johnny may have been a typical rock star, but he valued his life too much to attempt driving home in this state. He couldn't imagine a world without himself in it, but liked to think in his absence, the world would dedicate a day to him in which everyone partied all night and all day.

Johnny let himself in his flat the next morning. He was feeling a little delicate with a magnificent back ache from sleeping in a car. As he walked through the flat that cost him half a million, he didn't seem to notice the damage. He sat himself down on his leather sofa and sighed. His head was killing him.
As he considered putting on some Rolling Stones, he finally noticed his totally trashed living room.
Johnny slipped off his sunglasses and looked about with a frown.

'Now I know I didn't do this,' he said to himself. Shattered glass littered the floor as well as all of Johnny's possessions. Lights had been pulled from the ceiling. Mirrors smashed. Carpet stained. Furniture broken or over turned. Johnny looked at the leather sofa he was sat on and noted the slash marks across it.

'Hmm . .' he mused. His head lifted as Kool-Kevin appeared in the doorway, shaking his head.

'What the fuck have you done, Johnny?' he sighed. It wasn't unheard of for Johnny to have wild parties and trash his own home, and he didn't want people thinking otherwise. Johnny shrugged and relaxed into the sofa, folding his arms behind his head.

'I was thinking of buying a house in the country anyway. What d'you think, a stately home too big?' Kool-Kevin shook his head at Johnny again.

'No offence, yeah? But I don't give a toss. Just try not to kill yourself before Monday. America wont wait forever.' Kool-Kevin disappeared just as easily as he had appeared and left Johnny to wonder silently who had destroyed his home.
He heard the door shut on Kool-Kevin's disgruntled mutters and stood, slipping his sunglasses back on.

He walked to his bathroom and flipped on the light. Calmly enough, Johnny took in the sight before him. He folded his arms and tilted his head to the side, as if examining a piece of art work. Across his wide mirror was written the words “you're dead!”
He wondered what they could have written it in. It was red but wasn't blood. It wasn't paint either. Johnny ran his finger across the dot of the exclamation mark and licked his finger. Ketchup.

'Mm,' Johnny nodded, feeling peckish. He decided maybe it was time to go down the police station and report the murder he witnessed the night before . . . right after he got something to eat.

Johnny took his motorbike down to the station. He slipped his helmet off and put his sunglasses on. They had become a necessary accessory for him.
He strode into the station as if he weren't just about to report a murder. He pushed through the doors and strolled casually to the desk in front of him. He leant against the counter and the short stout woman behind a sheet of perspex looked up at him.

'Can I help you sir?' the woman asked, trying not to eye him up too hard. She was certain she recognised him.

'Uh, yeah,' Johnny said, not a shred of interest in his voice. 'I've come to report a murder.' The woman's eyes widened. She didn't quite know what to say. No one was ever that blunt about it. People were normally timid and scared to come forward. Not Johnny.

'Um,' the woman stuttered, rummaging through papers. 'What's your name, sir?'

'Johnny Carolina.' It was all that needed to be said. The woman remembered now. Every music channel. Every radio station. Every magazine on the racks. That's where she knew Johnny from.

'Serg?' the woman called over her shoulder, sounding a little desperate.

The police sergeant blinked at Johnny. He'd always read about him and his antics, some of which illegal, but had never imagined ever meeting the man himself. Johnny, sat at on the other side of the interrogation desk, blinked back at him.

'So tell me, in your own words what happened,' encourage the sergeant. Johnny slipped his sunglasses off.

'Well,' he began. 'Yesterday was the final gig of our UK tour. Afterwards we had a send off party at Roof On Fire, that new roof-top club that just opened. I didn't feel much like staying so-'

'And why was that?' the sergeant interrupted.

'Bumped in to an ex-girlfriend, didn't I?' he told him as if it was almost humorous. 'Didn't wanna hang around much to be honest so I left. Stopped off at the Texaco garage on my way home to fill up the car. There was the guy behind the till, fat faced guy, hair a little grey. And then these two blokes come in, yeah? Start arguing with him.'

'What did these men look like?'

'One was a big-arse bloke. Massive, he was. Bald. Probably tall as he was wide. The other was like a little Mexican guy or something. He had tanned skin. His hair was black and greased back like a dick. He had this stupid goatee. They both wore suits and they both had guns, but it was the little guy who shot the guy behind the till. Blew his 'ead off, literally.' Johnny formed a gun with his fingers and put it to his head. 'Pow,' he said placidly, pretending to blow his brains out.

'And what did you do then?' the sergeant asked.
Johnny laughed. 'What do you think I did? I got the fuck outta there. They saw me though and started shooting at me, so that wasn't fun.'

'They saw you?' exclaimed the cop. Johnny shrugged. 'For the benefit of the tape,' the cop said. 'The witness just shrugged.'

'That's cool, do you have to comment on every silent movement I make?'

'What did you do then?' the sergeant continued, clearly ignoring Johnny's question.
Johnny smirked. 'Well, I went out and got hammered, of course. I was feeling victorious, y'know? I was still alive and that needed celebrating. Then I passed out in my car, drove home the next morning and found my flat had been turned upside down. Manager thought it was me. Funny that, ain't it? You build up such a reputation for y'self that things automatically get pinned on you in the end.'

'So your home was trashed?'

'Like a fucker,' Johnny confirmed. 'Oh, and “you're dead!” was written in ketchup across the mirror. I wonder how they found my home address so quick?' Johnny mused to himself, unconcerned.
The sergeant looked more than concern however. How was he supposed to hide the most famous man in Britain?

Johnny was kept at the station for his own safety while a team was sent to investigate and access the severity of the damage done to his flat. He was sat on a bench in the hall while busy looking cops bustled about. It was only the women bustling however, no doubt trying to look important in front of Johnny. Sunglasses back on to hide his stare, Johnny looked over all the women who desired his attention so much. Most were middle-aged or just not his type.

Johnny frowned to himself, unaware that he had a type. He always considered himself to be quite easy when it came to women. He was never a fussy man, he just lost interest quickly.
But as he looked around all the women present, he concluded that he did indeed have a type, and funnily enough the criteria wasn't just 'female.'

Johnny wasn't totally sure what his type was, seeing there hadn't yet been a single woman he'd ever felt strongly enough for to commit to.
Johnny didn't have trouble with commitment, he just hadn't found the right woman. However, he intended to try as many as necessary until he found her, hopefully not too soon. He was young and wanted to have fun.
Maybe, he thought, he'd find her in America during their tour next week. He'd try his luck with a couple and see how he liked the feel of an American girlfriend.

Tidying the papers on her desk, Taylor Reynolds kept her head down and wondered when she lost her passion for her job. It hadn't always been paper work, but as of recently, that was all that occupied her days. She didn't enjoy this. She joined the police to help people, to make a difference. But nowadays the only difference she made was recycling after shredding.

'Did you hear?' asked officer Susan Gregg, appearing from nowhere at Taylor's side. She wore a breathless, excited smile.

'Hear what?' Taylor asked in interest, finally noticing the frantic dashing of all women around her. 'What's happened?' she worried.

'We have a celebrity here.' Susan's smile was stretching wider across her face in an almost psychotic way. 'Johnny Carolina's just round the corner there.' Susan pointed at the wall and Taylor's eyes followed her finger in it's direction, as if expecting to see him through the wall. 'Isn't that exciting?' Susan beamed.
Taylor shrugged nonchalantly.

'If you like Johnny Carolina.'

'Which everyone does cause he's so gorgeous,' sighed Susan like a dreamy school girl. 'Go check him out,' she encouraged.
Taylor looked back at her desk.

'I've got work to do.'

'Suit yourself,' shrugged Susan as she wondered off quickly back around the corner Johnny was supposedly behind.
Arranging more paperwork, Taylor couldn't help but glance up at the corner of the wall and wondered what she would do if Johnny walked around it.

Johnny stood and stretched his legs. He'd been sat for as long as an hour waiting for the verdict. What that verdict was, Johnny didn't know. It was clear to see on first glance that his flat looked like a bomb had hit it. Why would they need to take so long to access the damage? Sure, he reasoned, they'd need to search for evidence and fingerprints and take pictures, but why would that take an hour?

Johnny scratched his chin as he considered where he was going to live now. He figured he could crash at the bassists. Curtis had a spare room, and he knew for a fact that Zach had a sofa bed. Johnny had passed out on it many times in the past.

Johnny sighed and started tapping a beat against his thighs. He wouldn't need to worry too long. He'd be sleeping in hotels all across America next week. Johnny thought seriously then about actually buying a stately home in the country. As he mused to himself about his future living arrangements, he saw her.

The slim brunette shuffling files into cabinets. She was exquisite. Johnny knew what his type was. His type was gorgeous. And this woman was, despite her tussled hair and tired face. Despite her lack of make up and how highly strung she looked. She wasn't going out of her way to impress him.

Johnny wasn't sure if she'd even noticed him. He felt strangely like all these little imperfections were apart of her charm. She wasn't like the try-to-hards he'd previously had relations with, but he decided he definitely would sleep with her.
Johnny craned his neck to get a better look of her figure when someone addressed him.

'Mr Carolina?' enquired the voice. Johnny span and smiled. He loved how people called him Mr Carolina. It was so clearly not his real name, but no one knew what his real name was. Some said the rest of his band didn't know. Some even said Johnny himself didn't know. But who was to know?

'I'm chief inspector Norris.' Johnny reached out and shook his hand before slipping off his sunglasses. Chief inspector Norris was tall with white hair. He had a thick grey moustache trimmed neatly back. This man looked tightly wound. 'We accessed the damage of your home,' he continued.

'And?' Johnny continued for him. 'When can I go home?'
Norris sighed stressfully.

'At this moment, we are concerned for your safety, Mr Carolina, and we believe, being such a well recognised face, you are still in danger of being hurt or possibly even killed by those you witnessed last night.'

'So what do you suggest?' Johnny laughed. 'I walk around with a bag on my head? Yeah, that's not conspicuous, is it?'

'May I suggest something far more effective?' asked Norris. Johnny nodded. Norris paused a moment, watching Johnny closely. 'You try the witness protection programme.' Johnny frowned and folded his arms.

'And how would this work exactly?' he enquired.

'Well,' began Norris. 'I think our best option, for someone like yourself, would be witness relocation.'

'No way,' Johnny said in an instant, shaking his dirty blonde head. 'I can't relocate. London's my home.' Johnny thought again of that stately home in the country and ignored his thoughts. 'I can't be expected to just up and move. Besides I'm going to be in America next week, I'll be totally safe.'

'These people found your home address in hours. If you value your life-' which Johnny did - greatly. '-then I suggest you cancel that tour.' Johnny shook his head again and smirked bitterly. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't.

'I know it may not seem like it,' Johnny said in an icy tone. 'But that's my job. That's what I get paid to do. Now if I suddenly cancel last minute, that's just a little bit unprofessional, don't you think? And I'm a professional.'

'Your tour dates will be posted everywhere. It'll be easy for them to track you down. They just hop a plane to America and gun you down on stage. You'll lead them right to you, and your band.' Hands on his hips, frowning at the wall, Johnny considered all this. He shook his head again.

'I dunno. I dunno if I can get away with cancelling the tour. It's all sorted and ready now.'

'You wouldn't need to worry about that,' assured Norris. Johnny looked back at him. 'If you agree to this, no one must know. It needs to look as though you simply . . vanished.'

'Yeah? And how will you explain it to my manager when he come storming in here cause I've disappeared?'

'We'll tell him we'll look into it.'

'I'm sure that'll go down well,' muttered Johnny uncertainly.

'This really is your only option if you want to live, I'm afraid.' To put it bluntly.
Johnny narrowed his eyes slightly at Norris. 'So say I agree, then what?'

'Then we ship you to a safe and hidden location where you will stay until the murderers are caught and no longer a threat to you.' Johnny groaned, knowing he was giving in, and very close to agreeing.

'How would you keep me safe at this location?' he asked. He wanted all the details. It was like signing to a record label. Read all the small print so you know exactly what you're getting yourself into.

'We'll have one of our officers stay at this location with you at all times to ensure your safety.'
Norris watched Johnny while he thought about it. He'd already made the decision in his head, he was just reluctant to voice it. He glanced over his shoulder to find the brunette he was eyeing gone. Johnny hated missed opportunities. He looked back at Norris and sighed.

'Alright, fine. How do we do this?'