Of course, her band was none the wiser. She wasn’t even sure if they had the capacity to smell a rat even if she laid it out right in front of them. They were positively enamored to just be crossing the Wall, going on a great adventure. Perhaps it wouldn’t have even taken that. Maybe a short trip to any state in the Soviet Bloc would likely have satiated their desires. She didn’t have to exert any real effort in pleasing them. You know, let them out into the yard to pee every morning, keep the bowl full of kibbles, and throw a bone around every now and then to keep them slobbering and happy.
Not that she viewed them as stooges, per se, they just had their simple little views of the world, with their simple little goals: be a band… rock out… blah blah blah. It was the same crap as everyone else she had ever known, “Do these people ever grow up?” she would often think to herself. On occasion, she would even begrudge them their simplicity and resent their small-minded dreams.
“You used to feel the same way.” Patrick had been quick to remind her, “It was only once we showed you how big the world really was that you decided you wanted a bigger piece of it.”
He told the truth, no doubt; yet it was perhaps worse than that. She had to admit it (in her most honest of hours) that as much as she hated the GDR, the Stasi, the HVA and anything having to do with this realm of evil… it had opened her eyes. They hadn’t just shown her the terrible wonders of the underworld; they had been her passport, permission slip and plane ride to the promise of sheer possibility—her one-way ticket to midnight. As much as she despised it all, and as much as she missed the simplicity of the old days when Pandora’s Box still lay closed, she couldn’t dare look back.
As difficult as it was, she vowed to never forget the events at the Metropol, and all the debauchery it contained that she so desperately wanted to forget. It had been much easier to remember the month that followed. And now she was here, with the bright lights, brighter neon, fluorescent advertisements promising that the sounds emanating from the buildings they attached to (along with their shyster origins) were indeed a thing to behold if you dared—and Lena was beginning to dare. She would never forget the horror of her newfound purview, nor could she relinquish the mystery and excitement of it all. As long as she lived, she could never un-know and never un-see. She could never shrink it all back to its original size.
“Thish is fucking incredible!” Jakob slurred at no one in particular, as he drank his five-thousandth beer that night.
The touring van had pulled up outside a large, older brick building with a colorful smattering of graffiti. The building only ‘looked’ old though—Lena knew a rock staple when she saw it. This building was designed to carefully maintain its air of preserved history. The yellow windows were reinforced for sound, and the lights outside were bright with modernity, despite their fashionable vintage look. Layers of posters and flyers stapled to even more layers underneath covered every inch of the sides of the front doors. These doors barred passage where hundreds (if not thousands) of Berliners awaited admission.
Jakob had been excited for most of his adult life, and the trip to the West had only seen his eyes widen further with prospects for the future. But when the van pulled up outside of the venue, and saw the marquee which read: “The Dead Weights; featuring GDR ‘Mad Bunny’ mit Nicht Zustimmen”… Jakob looked close to soiling himself with giddiness.
“Jakob, calm yourself.” Vivika spoke with an annoyed tone. Although Lena noticed that she too was becoming slightly giddy.
“Shpeak for your fucking shelf, lady!” Jakob slurred, “Thesh fuckersh’s all here to shee us!”
“I think they’re here to see The Dead Weights.” Vortecx cut in.
“And the Mad Bunny, don’t forget.” Vivika teased.
“I don’t think anyone is here to see me.” Lena responded humbly. But she knew the truth better than they did.
Grandfather’s emissaries at Little John had done their due diligence shaking hands at the venue with overt promotion, bribery and otherwise. Not only had she made it onto the marquee herself, but the crowd titillated with stories of who the ‘Mad Bunny’ really was. Not only had she apparently made it across the wall—to hear the stories, she had practically garroted a guard or two doing it. She wasn’t just punk rock royalty from the East; she was a ghost story for the youth of the West. Not a word of it was believable, yet the fact that it was on the radio made it as real as it could be. Whether she was an assassin/ghost/schizo/rocker or not, it didn’t matter. She was a walking hype machine. There was a damn good reason it was her and Nicht Zustimmen: because ‘just Nicht Zustimmen’ wouldn’t have made it onto the same marquee as the Perverted Prince himself and his band of British hooligans.
“Oh sure, they’r’ll here to shee you!” Jakob spat into his beer, as he continued to press his face against it, “The Mad fucking Bunny, and her band; thas’ what thish all is!”
“Hey, it got us here, didn’t it?” Vivika defended Lena.
“Jakob!” Vortecx interjected, “We’re all a team, here!”
“Yeah, a fuckin’ team!” Jakob spat some more as he downed his beer and reached for another, “A perfect team we are. Jusht look at thish crowd!”
Lena didn’t want to say anything. She couldn’t blame her band for being a bit jealous of her fame—never mind what it had taken for her to acquire it. Yet, she did have to passingly note that Jakob had become more aggressive than usual since making it over the wall. Drinking too much was his normal state, but even with that in mind, he wasn’t handling alcohol nearly as well as he normally did.
The little touring van pulled around the corner of the building into a parking lot, and backed in towards the loading area. As they backed in, she noticed the massive bus in the corner of the parking lot. It was ineffectively gated off with ropes and stanchions to hold back a more-than-fledgling flock of scantily clad women who paid the restriction no mind at all. They were flailing their arms and flitting about the door, as if hoping to charm it open with their amply-displayed bosoms. The bus was modern, and hummed loudly with the air-conditioning that kept the on-board living quarters at the perfect temperature. Yet the exterior looked as if it had been painted by a street-artist who snorted everything placed in front of him without question. It was instantly recognizable, if for no other reason than the words, ‘The Dead Weights’ prominently emblazoned on the side.
“Jusht look’t’ll the fuckin’ ladies!” Jakob spat at no one in particular.
“Calm down, you moron!” Vivika hollered in his ear, “They aren’t here to see you! Just focus, would you please?”
“Yeah, this is our big night!” Vortecx joined in, “We have to make sure everything is perfect. We want to come back soon, you know?”
“Aw, to hell with you!” Jakob growled, “I should go introduce myself!”
“You absolutely should not.” Vortecx demanded before turning to ‘Victor’ and pleading, “Victor! Tell Jakob to knock it off and settle down!”
“I… uh…” Victor stammered, “Jakob… perhaps… uh…”
“Oh what are you gonna do about it?!” Jakob yelled at him.
“…w-well I s-suppose…” Victor replied meekly.
Lena took note of him with surprise. Sure, Patrick was playing a part; but perhaps he could play a part that was just a little bit more assertive. Especially now that Jakob was pounding against the window and sloshing his beer everywhere. This was, far and away, the most intoxicated that they had ever seen him.