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They had just played a gig at the Cavern Club. Oh, they had a recording contract, but came back and did a show here when they were in Liverpool and had time. The club now had some security, but most of the folks were almost old friends. Without them, well, they’d still be playing here six nights a week.
It was maybe a bit less raucous, even these young people in England had been affected by the assassination of the young President of the United States a few days before.
They were packing up their instruments when a young man came up to them.
“Excuse me, mates,” he said. His accent sounded more like a London one.
“Eh?” John asked. He already had his guitar in its case and was picking up cords. He only gave the guy a glance
“Me name is Mark, Mark Slate,” he said.
“Yeah?” Paul asked. John looked up. The guy was skinny, his hair was blond and slightly curly.
“I work for,” Mark paused. He reached into his vest pocket. From this angle John spotted he was carrying a gun in a shoulder holster.
“Here,” John dropped the cords. He wasn’t sure what this guy wanted, but he didn’t want the others to get scared too.
“I work for the U. N. C. L. E.” Mark said, he spelled out each letter. He handed a card to John. It was gold and had a black skeleton globe with the letters under it.
“What are you?” John asked. He got up in Mark’s face. “Some kind of copper?”
“Well, sort of. However, if you allow, I have a lady here who would like to meet you.”
The four had already shed their jackets, despite being late November, the club had become very hot from the packed crowd, most of whom had been dancing.
John looked at the others who all exchanged looks. Paul shrugged, George and Rich nodded.
“Just for a few minutes, we’ve got to get our stuff packed up.”
“Just keep packing,” Mark said. “I’ll get her to come here, she’s been in the back of the club.”
“‘K, mate,” John said. He leaned over and picked up the cords he had been collecting.
They had most of their stuff packed when Mark came back. Beside him, with another man, who was also probably with the same organization, was a middle-aged lady. She was overweight, and wore jeans, a shirt and a jacket. She was probably 40 and wore no make-up. She had two black eyes, the right one was nearly swollen shut, which probably explained why she wasn’t wearing make-up. She also had another bruise on her right jaw.
She also had a big grin. John noted her teeth, probably an American with those nice teeth he thought.
“This is Lisa,” Mark introduced.
“I’m John,” he held out his hand. She took it eagerly.
“I know,” she said. Then she gave a small laugh. “I’m your oldest fan,” she said.
John was surprised. He had many girls tell him they were his biggest fans, but oldest? Well, she was older than the age of their normal fans.
John felt something in her palm. It sort of slipped into his. He started to react, but she gripped his hand a bit harder for a moment before she let go. He closed his hand around the object.
Paul was there next. “You are my favorite,” she told him as they shook hands. “May I have a hug?” Paul, always sweet, stepped in and they hugged. From where John stood he saw her seem to slip something very small into his pocket with her left hand.
John kind of smirked knowing they were all probably a bit stinky from sweating on stage. He did see that Paul said something to her softly, probably a thank you.
George, always a bit shy, kind of blushed as he reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
She took it. “It is such an honor to shake such a talented hand,” she said.
George blushed again more deeply. “Th… thanks,” he said.
John didn’t see her try and pass anything to George. Probably run out of things at the moment.
Finally Rich stepped forward. He held out his hand with a big grin. “Good of you to come in the shape you’re in,” he said.
She took it, grinning. “I couldn’t pass up a chance like this to meet you guys and, well…” She glanced at the two men with her as if gauging what she could say. “These are the reasons they rewarded me with meeting you guys.” She waved her free hand up toward her face.
John glanced at Mark, who nodded to her, not seeming to see John’s quick look.
John turned back, slipping his right hand into his pant’s pocket to hide what she had passed him while the hand was out of the two men’s sight.
“Here Lisa,” Mark said, handing a small book to her. He then looked at the foursome. “She’d like your autographs.”
“Oh, sure,” Rich said. She passed the book on to him. “How would you like me to sign it?” he asked. Mark stepped forward with a pen.
“If, if you could do both Ringo and Richard it would be great,” she said.
Rich gave her another of his big, toothy grins. He flipped open the book and signed it. George took the book and pen next and signed. Paul followed up then John did it, noting they had each given her a small bit of personalization besides signing. John wrote “To our oldest fan, Lisa,” before signing his name with a flourish.
“Now, Lisa, let’s let these blokes get on,” Slate said. “Besides…”
She gave a bit of an impatient sigh. “I know, I know,”
Before she left she turned back to them.
“Hey, thanks a lot, I know y’all would probably rather be doing anything besides entertaining some fat old lady, but this really means a lot to me.”
The two men kind of flanked her as they left the now nearly empty club. Only staff remained cleaning up. John wondered why she had, or needed, a security force.
“That was weird,” George said.
“She seemed nice,” Rich said.
John reached into his pocket and pulled out an American penny. It was kind of shiny like he’d heard they were when new. He really couldn’t see because he hadn’t put on his glasses. He looked over at Paul who was pulling something out of his right pocket.
“So you felt her do that,” John said.
“Yeah,” Paul replied. From where John stood, it looked like another coin.
Paul studied it.
“Oh!” he said.
“What?” John asked.
“This… coin…” he started.
“She gave me one too,” John said. He handed the penny to Paul.
“This one too,” Paul said after a moment.
“What?” the others drew close.
Paul looked around, then waved them even closer.
“She was obviously trying not to be seen giving these to us,” he said, very softly.
“What is it?” John asked. Wishing he had his glasses.
“The date on these coins,” Paul’s whisper was urgent.
“What?” Rich demanded.
“They are 1992!”