Everyone had been getting on each other's nerves. Petty quarrels flared over insignificant subjects. After a month without without proper sleep, diet or hygiene, emotions were fraying. The others especially picked mercilessly on Stu, he being the smallest and least likely to fight back. Usually he just left to stay with Astrid after such attacks, which made the others even more irritated for having to stay behind in "the pit" behind the Bambi Kino theatre.
Relations between Stu and Paul were particularly bad. Paul not only resented Stu's closeness with John, but couldn't stand Stu's obvious lack of musical ability on stage. A perfectionist even then, Paul knew Stu was not an asset to the group and would not help them make it big, even with the brooding James Dean look the birds dug so much.
They actually had their worst row yet up on stage one night late into a session, halfway drunk and staggering with exhaustion. All of them, even John, had taken their dig at Stu in one way or another, "You can't sing, you stupid prick," "Turn around so they can't see how shitty you play," and so on.
Stu bore it silently unti Paul said in between songs, "Astrid that good a fuck then, Stu?"
As Paul turned coldly away, he missed the expression of rage on Stu's face. He threw his guitar aside and leapt on Paul, knocking him off the piano stool where he had been sitting onto the floor. Paul snarled and shoved Stu off. Stu stood up and kicked at Paul who reached up, grabbed his leg and pulled Stu back to the ground where they started rolling around, cursing and struggling. Although Paul was thin, Stu was smaller built and was receiving the worst end of the fight, taking some pretty vicious punches and managing to land few of his own. Paul ended up on top, pummeling Stu until John and George managed to pull him off and pin his arms. John was angry enough to hit Paul himself, but something in Paul's expression made him drop his arm. He turned instead to help Stu get up.
Through clenched teeth, Paul growled, "Don't you ever try that again." He shook off George, jumped off the rickety stage and strode through the noisy crowd, which had greatly enjoyed the fight and was applauding enthusiastically.
The others took a brief break. Astrid got up from her table to help Stu clean up while the rest of her group muttered and whispered, clearly outraged by the whole incident. Paul didn't come back to finish the gig. In fact, he was still missing when the others finally fell onto their filthy beds in the early morning light of dawn.
Pete woke with a start as something thumped against the door to their quarters. He groggily crawled over to crack open the door (carefully avoiding George's "thing"). The door flew open because the weight of a body was pushing against it.
"Oh shit, someone turn on the light," Pete said loudly, afraid to know what or who was lying in the doorway.
George staggered up (carefully avoiding his "thing") and pulled the string for their one bare bulb. A body was indeed sprawled face-down across the doorway, and blood had smeared the front of the door. They stared for a moment in shock until John said flatly, "That's Paul."
Pete slowly turned him over and dragged him into the room. "George, move your mattress over here."
John got up to help Pete lift Paul onto the mattress. Dark eyelashes rested against pale skin. A drying streak of blood came from his nose and the right side of his face was swollen and bruised. More alarming was the rip across the left shoulder of his shirt, soaked in blood.
"Let's see about this," John said and peeled open Paul's shirt. A nasty, blood-encrusted gash on his left side and numerous cuts and bruises across his entire torso told the story.
"Who the hell would beat the shit out of him and just throw him against the door?" George muttered angrily.
"Narrow miss, that," Pete observed, eyeing the stab wound.
John gingerly touched it, trying to see how deep it went. Paul groaned and half-opened his eyes.
"Aye, how'd this happen?" John demanded of him.
Paul blinked in an effort to focus on John. "I got jumped by four blokes on the way back to the club."
He sat up slowly, wincing at the pain and favoring his left side. "Dragged me into the alley and started right in," he continued.
"How'd you get that then?" George asked, pointing at the knife wound.
Paul looked down with a grimace, "That was the end when they thought they'd finish me off."
"Who?" John demanded again.
"Don't know, couldn't see. Spoke German though." Paul lay back and closed his eyes.
"We've got to clean that up," Pete said, "Or you'll risk infection.:"
Considering their current living conditions, he had a very good point, despite Paul's protests. George went to the washroom to find what clean towels and soap he could. Pete pulled a small brown bottle from his suitcase. John took it and read the label incredulously, "Iodine?! Why the hell do you have this?"
Pete looked a bit embarrassed, "Oh, my Mum...you know how thorough she is..."
George returned with some semi-white cloths and John helped Paul carefully peel off his ruined shirt. He stayed as still as he could through Pete's ministrations. But when Pete held out his hand with the iodine, Paul stopped him and muttered, "Someone's going to have to hold me down for this."
The others glanced at each other and then John straddled Paul's waist, holding his arms down against the floor with his hands. "Ok, Pete," he said grimly.
Pete looked nervous, but unscrewed the lid and poured some of the brownish liquid into the wound. Blood spilled from Paul's mouth and dripped down his chin. He had bitten through his lip as the iodine burned its way in. He twisted and jerked, but John kept him pinned until he lay still, breathing heavily.
"Shit, that hurt," he finally managed to say.
John snorted, then started laughing hysterically, a typical reaction to any kind of crisis. The others giggled too, relieved to be letting off steam.
When he finally subsided, John said, "Gaa, we'll get the bastards! Are you all right, Paul?"
"Yeah, all right," Paul muttered, already half-asleep.
"Right, tomorrow we'll find the bloody arseholes and pound them," John declared and went back to his bed, carefully avoiding George's thing on the floor.
Pete lay back down, and George, after peering fearfully at his thing, crawled into Paul's bunk since Paul was on his mattress. Silence reigned as they fell back into an exhausted sleep for a few more precious hours.
