Justtin

Chapter four

Crossed signals


Justtin had finished downloading his data on the PC, and with Barry, started to analyse the information that he had gathered.
The screen blinked into life, with diagrams and graphs, and spectrum analysers and visual equalisers, all doing a merry dance.
“ What do you make of that?” Barry asked, pointing to the wavy lines on the screen.
“ I’m not a hundred per cent, but I would say that calculates tunus crapiotus.”
“ That’s what I thought,” said Barry. “ They’re out of tune. Only just, mind you. But if that is the problem, then why is it happening?”
“ I suppose it’s down to who tunes the guitars,” said Justtin.
“ Isn’t that what roadies are for?” asked Barry.
“ What you asking me for?” said Justtin. “ I’m a robot. But I suggest we talk to Pat.”
“ That would explain a lot,” said Barry. “ What if he’s tuning the guitars with his hearing aid switched off?”
“ I can only imagine it being a lot worse,” said Justtin. “ Maybe it’s not him doing it.”
“ It wouldn’t be Ade playing another practical joke, surely?” said Barry.
“ Who can tell?” said Justtin. “ But if they’re that desperate to get a record deal, I can’t imagine the guitarist sabotaging things deliberately.”
“ Oh well,” said Barry, “ at least we think we’ve found the problem. All we need now, is the cause. I suppose we’re not going to be any wiser until we get down there.”
“ After you,” said Justtin as they departed the flat, and headed back to the Shakes.

***

Dad was in his element.
While rummaging through a dustbin, he’d stumbled on a broken toy computer. He hastily stuffed the toy into his newly found carrier bag, crushing the half-eaten doughnut at the bottom, and breaking the bottle of pop.
He continued his search while he still thought it was safe enough, but eventually his nerves got the better of him, so he retreated to his hideaway, leaving a trail of pop in his wake.
He laid his plunder on the floor, and realised that the only things missing, were a power source, and a screwdriver. He probably needs a soldering iron as well, but I don’t want to complicate matters.
Dad took the set of keys out of his pocket and studied them. One of the keys was smaller than the others, with a small flat edge. That’ll do nicely, he thought, and proceeded to make his transmitter.
An hour later, he’d finished making a very basic device, but still needed a power source. A battery would be nice, he thought, and decided to take a chance, and have another look around.
There were some shops close by, and if he was going to get what he needed, then where better? The night was getting closer, so he thought it better that he wait a while.
And he waited.
And he waited some more.
Dad didn’t remember waiting anymore. He fell asleep.
When his eyes opened, day was breaking, yet again. He decided that now was the time to get to the shops, before the rest of the village had time to catch him up. He quickly crawled out of his hiding place, under the bushes at the top of a small hill, and made his way down the slope, as quick as his old frame would take him.
Constantly glancing from side to side, and occasionally looking behind him, he made sure he wasn’t being watched, as he got closer and closer to the small precinct of shops.
There wasn’t much in the way of shops. The off license doubled up as the local video rental, the post office was also the newsagents, and an old Major ran the general store.
Dad got closer, and finally, he reached the rear of the off license. He made his way straight to the wheelie-bin, and raised the lid.
“ Get lost,” said a pair of eyes, staring back at him.
“ No,” said dad. “ Do you have any batteries in there? It’s important.”
“ No I don’t,” said the eyes. “ Now get lost.”
“ Thanks for your help,” said dad, and closed the lid.
Bloody weirdo, thought dad, and moved toward the next bin.
“ What do you want?” said a voice.
“ Er, batteries,” said dad. “ Have you got any in there?”
“ Might have. What d’you want them for?” said the voice.
“ I can’t tell you, but it’s important,” said dad.
“ They’re not for him with the eyes, are they?” said the voice.
“ No,” said dad, “ they’re for me.”
“ So what do you want them for?” said the voice. “ Coz if he gets ‘em, me and Boris will never hear the end of it.”
Who the hell is Boris thought dad, but he decided to be polite, and not ask.
“ My torch isn’t working,” lied dad. “ I need them for my torch.”
“ Show me your torch,” said the voice. “ Boris wants to see it.”
“ I don’t have it with me,” said dad.
“ Boris says you’re lying,” said the voice.
“ Why would I lie about my torch?” said dad. “ Look it’s very simple, I need some batteries. If you haven’t got any, then fine. I’ll go away and look somewhere else.”
“ Boris wants to know what you have in exchange?” said the voice.
“ I have a half-eaten dough-nut and a carrier bag,” said dad.
“ What colour is the bag?” said the voice. “ Boris wants to know.”
“ Is it important?” asked dad.
“ It is to Boris,” the voice answered.
“ It’s white,” said dad. “ Is that good enough?”
There was a short pause, in which dad could hear a lot of mumbling.
“ Boris says he has one,” said the voice. “ He keeps his batteries in it.”
“ I don’t believe you,” said dad. “ Show me.”
There was a shuffling sound, and the lid raised slightly. A small white bag was passed through the gap, and dad took his chance. He grabbed the bag and ran off toward the hill, laughing as he went. Too easy, he thought. He looked over his shoulder to see if he was being chased, but couldn’t see anyone behind him, so he used the opportunity to look inside the bag, and instantly wished he hadn’t.
“ He’s run off with your poo,” the voice said to Boris. “ I only hung it out there coz the smell was getting a bit much. He didn’t even wait for the batteries. I was going to let him have them, especially for a new white bag. I like white ones.”
What now? thought dad. I can’t go back there. They’ll be waiting for me.
He threw the bag over his shoulder, and heard it splat on the ground.
Gross, he thought.
He still needed some batteries. One would be enough. If only I had some cash, he thought. That was the point he got his next idea.

***

As they reached the pub, Justtin noticed a drink-dispensing machine, with a well-known company slogan blazoned across the front, firmly attached to the outside wall.
“ Hello baby,” he said, and went straight to the machine to chat it up.
He hadn’t been there long, when the drink dispenser started to shake, then with a small pop and a puff of smoke, the machine switched itself off.
“ What did you do to that coke machine?” asked Barry.
“ Don’t understand it,” said Justtin. “ I only asked it to get its tins out for the lads. Must be losing my touch.”
Barry groaned inwardly.
“ You are unbelievable,” he said. “ Let’s leave the thing alone. We’ve got other thing’s to do.”
“ Yeah,” said Pug.
Barry stopped and looked at Justtin.
“ Did you hear that?” he said.
“ What?” asked Justtin.
“ Never mind,” said Barry, as he made his way into the pub, with Pug and Justtin fighting for second place.
“ Hello Jeff,” Barry said to the landlord. “ Are they in?”
“ Who’s that then?” asked Jeff.
“ The band,” said Barry. “ Are the band here?”
“ Not heard a sound all day,” said Jeff. “ They might be sleeping or something.”
“ Let’s go and see,” Barry said to Justtin, and did just that.
And sure enough, the band were all sleeping.
Barry noticed a cassette recorder on a table, and realised it was still playing, but the music had finished. He switched the tape recorder off, and instantly, Ade started to stir. Barry pressed the rewind button, and let the tape go back a few minutes, then pressed play. The sound of the Dog’s Testis music came out of the small speaker, and Ade fell back to sleep.
Barry turned the music off, as he could feel his own eyelids getting heavy. Ade stirred again.
“ Heavy stuff, eh?” he said, as he finally got his bearings. “ Never noticed it before.”
“ What, exactly?” said Barry.
“ Well, when we play, we’re fine,” said Ade. “ We don’t feel tired or drowsy, or anything. We just, sort of, get on with it. We decided to tape a few songs, to see how we were getting on, and everything went really well. Then we played the songs back, and that was the last thing I can remember.”
“ We think we have the answer,” said Barry.
“ Really?” said Ade. “ Wow, that was quick. So, what is it?”
“ We think you’re playing out of tune,” said Justtin. “ In fact, we don’t think you are, we know you are.”
“ But that’s impossible,” said Ade. “ We all tune to each-other.”
“ But who does your tuning?” Barry asked.
“ Well, he does,” said Ade pointing to Pat.
“ Does he keep his hearing aid switched on?”
Barry had to ask the obvious.
“ Yes, of course he does,” said Ade. “ Well, at least I always thought he did.”
“ Must be something else,” said Barry.
“ I have an idea,” said Justtin. “ What does he use when he tunes your guitars?”
Ade lead the duo to the side of the stage, to where Pat had his little work area set up.
“ Is this what you’re looking for,” he said, holding up a small battery operated guitar tuner.
“ Could be?” said Barry. “ Do you mind if we take it away for tests.”
“ Be my guest,” said Ade. “ But what do we use in the mean time?”
“ I have no idea,” said Justtin. “ You’ll just have to play it by ear.”

***

I suppose it’s already occurred to you by now, that Aunt B has not been part of the story recently, and there’s a perfectly logical explanation.
Are you ready? Then we’ll begin.
One warm Sunday morning, as Aunt B was leaving church, she noticed a sign on the wall, advertising a knitting circle, run by the local vicar’s wife, followed by a phone number.
She wrote down the number on a used tissue, and went home to see if she could find the mobile phone, that she was convinced that dad the squirrel had hidden for a rainy day.
It wasn’t likely to rain on this Sunday, but today was as good a day as any to make new friends, so Aunt B headed for where she thought dad might have hidden the phone.
After leaving the contents of Barry’s laundry basket strewn all over the bathroom floor, she went to the kitchen and pulled the cooker away from the wall. In amongst the dust and crumbs, were an old pair of socks, and a new pair of Aunt B’s bloomers.
“ Little bastard,” she said. “ I ain’t worn them yet. I’ll have his nuts for this.”
She kicked the socks out of the way, but there was no sign of the phone. She looked about the kitchen and spied the vegetable rack.
“ Aha!” she said, as she reached under the rack and retrieved a mouldy carrot.
She put the carrot to her ear.
“ This ones dead,” she said. “ I’ll have to find the other one.”
She tossed the carrot over her shoulder and the search continued.
She went into the living room, and pulled the cushions off the sofa. She jammed her hand down the back, where we keep our spare change, but it wasn’t there.
With all the dust flying around, Aunt B started to sneeze. She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a tissue, and gave her nose a good blow.
She pushed the tissue back in her bag, and her knuckle brushed something hard.
“ What’s that?” she said to herself.
She put her hand around the hard object, and pulled out her phone.
“ The little bugger hid it in my bag,” she said. “ I’ll have him for this.”
So, we have the phone, and we have the number. And if we put the two together, we end up with a conversation.
“ Hello,” said a squeaky little voice. “ Can I help you?”
“ That depends deary,” said B. “ What are we knitting this week?”
“ I’m sorry?” said squeaky. “ This is Mrs. Vicars. Who’s that?”
“ This is Betty Trotter. I want to join your group.”
“ Ah, now I understand,” said Mrs. Vicars. “ Well, we congregate on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the church hall, at 10 o’clock. All you have to do is come along.”
“ Do you supply the tea and bikkies?” asked B.
“ We have a kettle, and some teabags,” said Mrs. Vicars. “ Unfortunately, we don’t have any milk, or cups coming to think of it. We would welcome any donations or gifts.”
“ Like what?” asked B.
“ Milk and cups mostly,” said Mrs. Vicars. “ Or knitting needles, wool, old clothes, anything really. We’re having a jumble sale next weekend, so every little helps. You can help out if you like.”
“ Next weekend you say,” said B. “ That wouldn’t be a Saturday would it?”
“ Yes. Is that problem?” asked Mrs. Vicars.
“ Not really. I don’t have anything planned,” said B. “ So, shall I come on Tuesday, and we can chat some more.”
“ That would be marvellous,” said Mrs. Vicars. “ I look forward to it.”
“ Me too,” said B. “ Good bye.”
Silly cow, thought Mrs. Vicars.
Funnily enough, B thought the same thing.
Tuesday came, and Aunt B joined the knitting circle, only she was sitting on the inside, trying to knit her way out.
As mentioned before, knits r us, met Tuesdays and Thursdays, and tried their best to make B feel at home.
But when she was told that knitting a man would be virtually impossible, she spent her time making hand grenade covers.
Not only a great place to view all the latest knitting disasters, knits r us was also a great place to get all the local gossip.
B was quite amazed, that while she was there, nobody ever brought up the fact that she shared a flat with her nephew Barry, a seven foot robot, the ugliest dog that had ever been born, and a squirrel called dad.
But as soon as she was out of earshot, the bitching never stopped.
Especially Mrs. Turner, whose son had his own funeral parlour, Turner Ina Grave.
Crappy name, but it paid the bills.
As for Hilda Turner, the town’s biggest gossip, she couldn’t wait to start a rumour, and today’s rumour was just the sort of thing that can destroy a small community like Romford.
After B had left, Mrs. Turner tried to convince the knitting circle, that B was having a relationship with the squirrel, but almost everybody saw through this one.
Almost.
There were some who said, that being the only squirrel in the vicinity, the company was probably what he needed.
But most said it was utter rubbish, as the squirrel was lacking in the nut department.
Of course, things like that weren’t beneath B.
She didn’t want to waste her time with gossip, or gossip makers. But, if she was going to waste her time, she was hoping to catch them at it.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had some fun with a hand grenade, and with B’s history, it wasn’t going to take much to bring the fun back.
All she had to do was catch them at it.
So, Aunt B took to eve’s dropping.
On every street corner, she would stop and listen, and hope to get a snippet of gossip. But nine times out of ten, it amounted to nothing.
She would also visit the local pub, hospital, cinema, and the market was becoming a particular favourite hunting ground for the old girl.
She was a determined woman, and needed little excuse to play with ever increasing arms stash.
And Hilda Turner was the little excuse B needed.

***

Dad’s new idea was pure class. He was going to busk outside the village pub.
It was lunchtime, and the village was awake, at last. Dad made his way to the pub and put his empty bag on the floor. He looked left. Nothing. He looked right. Even more nothing. Things weren’t looking so good, so he sat on the floor and waited.
Two hours had gone by, when dad was disturbed by a car pulling up in the car park. He jumped to his feet, and started to tap dance, at the same time as singing an old song that he vaguely remembered the words to. So, after much humming, and dancing of the tap variety, he looked in his bag to see how well he’d done.
He hadn’t.
One foreign coin and a chocolate button. Terrific, he thought. He wondered if the coin could be exchanged at the post office, but decided against the idea, as he couldn’t even tell which country it came from. And the chocolate button was the best thing he’d eaten in days.
Back to the drawing board, he thought.
The village was dead, the pub even more so. Dad looked through the window in envy. Inside, were two people, a barman, and a well-dressed gentleman. Dad wondered how the man had got past him. He decided to wait for the man to come out.
Another two hours went by.
I’m getting bloody bored of this, he thought. He took another look in the window, just in time to see the gentleman heading towards the door. Right, thought dad, I’ll get him this time.
“ Spare any change?” dad asked the man, before he’d even got through the door.
“ What for?”
“ I’ve got to ring my son,” said dad, without hesitation. It didn’t even occur to him that he didn’t have Barry’s number.
“ Why don’t you use my mobile?” the man asked.
Dad had been away for so long he didn’t know what a mobile was.
“ A what?” dad asked.
“ This,” the man said, showing dad his nice little phone.
“ You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?” said dad. “ I ain’t using that.”
“ What’s wrong with it?”
“ It’s far too small, for starters. How can anybody use that?”
“ This is state of the art technology,” said the man. “ And they’re cheap. I can do you a great deal on one like this.”
“ What sort of deal?” asked dad.
“ I can do you this phone, complete with battery, charger, carry case and hands free kit, for nothing. All you have to do is sign a 12 month contract,” said the salesman.
Battery, thought dad. Just what I need.
“ Is the battery charged?” asked dad
“ I can do that in my car,” said the salesman. “ It will only take a little while.”
“ Ok, where do I sign?” said dad.
And the deal was done. Dad gave the man false credit-card details, and the man gave dad a really crappy phone.
But dad couldn’t care less. He had a battery.
Half an hour later, dad took his new purchase back to his hideaway, and quickly dismantled the phone. He removed the battery and connected it to his signal device, and with the flick of a small switch, he sent a message to Justtin.

***

After numerous tests, Barry and Justtin both came to the same conclusion. The batteries in the guitar tuner were almost dead, and that, as far as Barry was concerned, was the reason the guitars weren’t in tune. Well, not perfectly, anyway.
The pitch was wrong.
So simple, yet it accounts for the reason there are so many crappy bands about at the moment. Change your batteries, guys.
“ So what happens now,” Barry asked.
“ Well, seeing as you are now the bands manager, you’ll have to put your money where your mouth is, and buy them some new batteries,” Justtin offered.
“ And we’ll get them the very best money can buy,” said Barry.
“ Bloody idiot,” said Pug.
“ What was that?” asked Barry.
“ What?” said Justtin.
“ Thought I heard a voice,” said Barry.
“ Tell him it’s me, tin man,” said Pug.
“ I didn’t hear anything,” said Justtin.
“ Oh bugger,” said Pug.
“ It’s gone now,” said Barry. “ Let’s go and tell the band.”
“ Backwards and forwards,” said Pug. “ This is getting on all of my nipples.”
Barry put the leash on Pug and pulled him towards the door.
“ Get off,” said Pug. “ I don’t wanna go out.”
“ He don’t look too happy,” said Justtin. “ Maybe he doesn’t want to go out.”
“ Don’t be ridiculous,” said Barry. “ He’s a dog. Of course he wants to go out.”
“ No I don’t,” said Pug.
“ Are you sure?” said Justtin.
“ Sure I’m sure,” said Barry. “ Look, we’ll go and sort the band out, then we’ll come back here and chill out for the rest of the day. What do you say?”
“ Sounds good to me,” said Pug. “ Still don’t want to go though.”
“ Let’s do it,” said Justtin.
“ You metal git,” said Pug. “ Who’s side are you on?”
They left the flat and crossed the High Street, and spotted Aunt B lurking on a corner.
“ Hello B,” said Barry. “ What are you up to?”
“ Just taking care of business,” she replied.
“ What business?” Barry asked.
“ Mine,” she said. “ Now you mind yours.”
“ Charming,” said Barry, as he dragged the reluctant Pug round the corner to the pub.
“ Keep an eye on her,” Barry said to Justtin.
“ I’d like to,” said Justtin, “ but I have something else to deal with.”
“ Such as?” Barry asked.
“ Something’s not quite right,” said Justtin.
“ If you say so,” said Barry.
“ You really should take more notice of things,” said the robot. “ This concerns you.”
“ Why me?” asked Barry.
“ I think I’ve just had a message from your dad.”
“ What?”
“ Very faint, but I’m sure it was him. He was probably using a phone battery.”
“ How can you tell?” asked Barry.
“ What? That it was dad, or it was a phone battery?”
“ Both,” said Barry.
“ Well, firstly, I have no idea how I know it was your dad. I just know. And secondly, phone batteries have to be charged fully first time. This one wasn’t.”
“ Are you still getting the signal?” asked Barry.
“ Nope.”
“ Well, can you tell where it came from?”
“ Nope.”
“ So, what do we do now?” Barry asked.
“ Have a serious chat with the squirrel,” said Justtin.
“ That’s going to be difficult,” said Pug. “ I chucked him in the rubbish bin this morning, and the old girl put him out for the dustbin men. I don’t suppose he’ll be coming back.”
“ What?” said Barry.
“You’re going to have to have a serious chat with the squirrel,” said Justtin.
“ Other than that, I didn’t say anything
“ I must be cracking up,” said Barry. “ Keep getting voices in my head.”
“ Nothing a good whack from a cricket bat can’t cure,” said Pug.
“ Which reminds me,” said Barry. “ If I’m going to be this bands manager, I’m going to need a new cricket bat. A bit of authority, know what I mean.”
“ Bit extreme,” said Justtin.
“ At last,” said Pug. “ I seem to be getting somewhere.”
“ You know what?” said Barry. “ I actually feel like I’m getting somewhere.”

***

Aunt B’s business was spying. She’d followed Mrs. Turner from the church hall, and was now spying on her in the market.
B still didn’t have anything to go on, but if the rumours were to be believed, it was only a matter of time.
B had spent the morning polishing a handgun, which was now nestled in the bottom of her handbag. Every now and then, she reached into her bag, just to make sure it was still there, and once she knew it was, she felt a bit more reassured.
Mrs. Turner had been to the vegetable stall, and stocked up on sprouts and carrots, and then she made her way to a small stall at the far end of the market, which specialised in toilet rolls, and wrapping paper. Aunt B followed.
Hilda looked around to make sure she wasn’t being watched. She didn’t want anybody to know which colour toilet roll she used. Snobs are like that. They also like the gossip, and Hilda Turner was the best gossip snob that she knew.
She thanked the stallholder and paid him his money, still oblivious of Aunt B watching her.
Aunt B found something interesting to look at, as Mrs. Turner passed her. With B watching out of the corner of her eye, Hilda headed back into the market, and slowly went from one end to the other. Occasionally, Hilda would stop and talk to people she knew, but Aunt B couldn’t get close enough to hear what was being said.
B had thought about planting a bugging device on Hilda, but changed her mind, when she realised how close she would have to get to the woman. She didn’t exactly like Hilda, so why would she want to get close to her. Except to plant a bug, of course.
Maybe if she could stop the rows with that magnet shy freak, she could recruit Justtin’s help, she thought.
Justtin would have helped willingly. He had a problem with old people, and if it meant another would meet their maker prematurely, then he was all for it.
But B wasn’t talking to Justtin, so that wasn’t going to happen.
She wondered if she could get help from Barry, or Zed, or perhaps Penny. All she had to do was ask.
But maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe Hilda Turner wasn’t the ruthless gossip that B had heard about. Maybe this was all for nothing.
She stuck her hand in her bag and felt the gun once more. It was wet.
“Oh shit,” she said to herself. “ It’s leaking. I’ll have to go home and fill it up with water again.”

***

Barry’s chat with Pat and the band went better than expected. As far as they were concerned, the problem had been solved, and Barry was now their new manager.
Barry was now in the entertainment business, and decided he needed a tall blonde, to perfect his image.
The Shakes had a new barmaid, Hannah, and Barry thought he would start there. She was a tall, leggy, blonde. Exactly what Barry had in mind.
Until she opened her mouth.
“ Watcha,” she said. “ What ya ‘avin’?” she asked in a deep voice.
Barry was taken back.
How could such a beautiful woman, have a voice that was lower than a rats testicle?
“ I’ll have a pint of lager,” he said, wondering if the woman was actually a man.
“ No problem mate,” said Hannah.
Barry was now getting scared, and once he’d got his pint, he paid for it and went and sat in his usual window seat.
Justtin came to join him, and Barry watched him approach.
“ Did you hear her voice?” Barry asked.
“ Only just,” said Justtin. “ Her voice is so low, it’s almost beyond my frequencies. And it really grates.”
“ Sorry,” said Barry. “ I’ll try and make a point of not talking to her again.”
“ That would be best,” said Justtin.
Barry was still feeling a bit spooked by Hannah, and without making it too obvious, he kept an eye on what she was doing.
He was a bit surprised, when, a little later on, she was deep in conversation with the local hoodlum, called Trevor.
She was laughing at his every word, and Barry couldn’t understand her fascination.
“ Each to their own,” said Justtin.
“ Sorry?” said Barry.
“ You’ve been watching Hannah for ages,” said Justtin. “ And you can’t work out how somebody like him, can be interested in someone that scares the crap out of you.”
“ I’m not scared of her,” said Barry, dishonestly. “ But there’s something not quite right. I think she’s Jeff, dressed up as a bird. Have you noticed that they’re not in the bar at the same time.”
Barry spoke too soon, which is tradition. Jeff walked into the bar and told Hannah it was her turn to take a break.
“ That pissed on your chips, didn’t it,” said Justtin, as he and Barry watched Hannah grab her coat and leave the pub with Trevor.
“ I didn’t see that coming,” said Barry, which traditionally, he didn’t.