Chapter Text
Friday, 30th June 1972;
It takes a bit of effort to convince Tim to come down to the pub, busy as he is with his band and their own rise to stardom. Humpy Bong, daft as the name sound’s, are rarely idle. Still, Brian finally extracts an agreement to come hear them out thanks to years of friendship and the man’s curiosity. Mention a big plan, a payback scheme, and Freddie’s wild imagination and Tim ultimately can’t resist.
Whether he’ll join in is another matter, however.
“He’ll want this,” Freddie predicts when Brian offers his thoughts.
“Why? Not involved in anything Smile anymore, is he?”
“Because he’s not going to be able to turn down the amount of chaos we’re to unleash.”
He’s brought his band to sit with those few members of The Crowd that’ve popped in for a swift half, mingling in a way that he usually dislikes with the other band. Loud, obnoxious and full of themselves, The Crowd give Freddie a run for his money and that’s never been something he’s enjoyed. It’s a stroke of luck Rich isn’t with them today; for a start, Freddie’s indicated he’s looking to poach a couple of members of the band and the lead singer’s a bit of a stickler for that sort of thing, and secondly, they don’t have time for the waspish back and forth the pair always descend into.
“What’s this all about?” Terry asks jovially, enticed by the promise of chaos most likely, the madness Freddie’s looking to create a siren call to the bored and idly destructive.
Likewise, Cliff and Dennis appear eager to hear about it. The older brother leans onto the table to better catch the frontman’s eye.
“Come on Freddie old thing. Can’t leave us hanging like that.”
“It’s unlawful,” Dennis asserts.
“Bloody sacrilegious,” Cliff nods. Tapping the table firmly, he tells Freddie, “Come on, out with it.”
“Wanna know as well,” Roger huffs. “S’kinda to do with me, innit?”
“You’re the main player in our little drama, Blondie.”
“More and more intriguing,” Brian notes. “All right, enough beating about the bush. What’ve you got planned?”
Giving in, Freddie still takes a moment to look about the assembled musicians about the table. “We’re going to give Raymond what he wants.”
“Magic,” John snorts. “Why?”
“Because once he feels safe, we’re going to bring him down in so spectacular a fall, the bloody bastard’s not going to be anything but a greasy smear on the pavement.”
“Lovely,” Brian nods. “How?”
“Infiltration, retaliation and misconception.”
“Now you’re just spouting words,” Terry accuses.
“He’s what, me ol’ mucker,” Cliff tells his drummer, “we in the business call a twat.”
“Honestly don’t need to be in the business to call him that,” Dennis grumbles.
Tsking, Freddie twists in his seat. “Where’s Tim got to? I’d rather he be here for this.”
“We’ll fill him in,” Brian says. “Come on, spill.”
“One of the things he’s been after is to manage Roger,” Freddie says, giving in again with a bit of glare. He’d rather grandstand with Tim in attendance, Brian decides, and bites his cheek to stop the smile. Preening peacock.
Frowning at the singer, Roger shakes his head. “M’not gonna go solo.”
“Indeed you’re not,” Freddie agrees. “But you are going to bring a new band to the fucker – give him reason to hope he can work on you.”
“Right,” Roger scowls. “How’s that gonna help?”
“Sabotage, darling,” Freddie trills happily. “You and your lovely new band – all decent musicians and with no reason not to succeed – are going to bring down that rotten prick and leave his name mud. Several gigs where things don’t go to plan, say, and the blame squarely at Raymond’s feet.” Darkly, he adds, “See if he messes with us again.”
“How’re we gonna do that?”
“I’m sure between us we can come up with a few things.” Eyeing Cliff and Dennis, Freddie smiles sharply. “We need musicians, ones with devilish minds and loose morals.”
“Count us in,” Cliff tells him easily.
“Sounds like a laugh,” Dennis nods. “Not going to want me to photograph for the band, are you?”
“Keep a camera close to hand,” Freddie tells him, jumping on the idea. “If something comes up where we can have some compromising evidence against him…”
“I’ll see what film I’ve got left,” Brian winces. Not exactly cheap, that stuff.
“It’ll pay for itself,” Freddie assures. “Blondie’s going to get what we’re owed, mark my words.”
“Can’t fucking wait,” Roger mutters, torn. It’s one thing to get back at someone who’s wronged you, but it means more time spent in the man’s company to achieve it.
“You’re going to be marvellous,” Freddie predicts.
“Suppose that’s me out,” Terry rumbles, nodding towards Roger. “Don’t need two drummers, do you?”
“I could take lead singer,” Roger offers, but Freddie immediately shakes his head.
“You’re going to be keeping Raymond on the hook – drumming for the band, you let him keep trying to sway you to go solo with some well placed comments about singing.”
“You want Tim to sing, then?”
“He did for Smile before I joined.”
“Did it bassing, too,” Brian remembers.
“As he does for Humpy Bong,” Freddie nods. “I think he can manage it for this.”
“Wouldn’t getting Francis on board be easier?” Cliff wonders.
“He’s lovely, a true gent,” Freddie says. “And that’ll work against us, I think.”
“Could add a bit of legitimacy,” Brian muses, giving Freddie pause.
“We’ll see how Tim’s fixed first,” he eventually declares. Frowning towards the door again, he adds, “If he ever gets here.”
Snorting, Brian settles more comfortably on his stool. “Give him a chance, Fred. He’s only just put the telephone down.”
“How long can it possibly take to run down to The Crown?”
“Depends,” John smiles. “How thirsty he sound, Brian?”
“Tim can always go for a pint,” Brian replies. “He’ll be along shortly, I’d imagine.”
Apparently thinking further ahead than the immediate concern of whether Tim’ll make it to the pub before time’s called, Roger asks, “What if he says no?”
“Never known him to turn down a pint,” Freddie muses, only to chuckle at the scowl he gets from Smile’s feisty drummer. “If he doesn’t agree to be part of … whatever we’re going to call you, we’ll have to hope Francis is a better liar than Brian and source out another singer.”
“I could –”
Freddie shakes his head. “A lot of this is going to rely on misdirection, angel,” he says. “You’ll need to take his focus as much as you can.”
“By dangling a solo run in front of his face,” Roger grouses.
“You’ll have fun,” Freddie promises fondly. “I’m tempted to dress up in disguise and join you.”
“He’d recognise your acerbic tongue in an instant,” Brian tells him.
“Charming.”
“Be a right laugh, watching him figure your disguise out,” Cliff muses.
“Unfortunately, I’d take the attention from Roger,” Freddie declares, shaking his head. “And we can’t have that. No, sadly I’ll have to forgo your band this time.”
Going back to Raymond and the actual plan, John pins Freddie with a look. “He going to take the bait if he hears Smile’s still knocking about?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had a side project.”
“Usually means the original’s on the outs,” Brian agrees ruefully. It’s been how one or two of his and Tim’s early bands have ended, and a change in line up’s not uncommon for any group keen to make their mark.
“That’ll work to our advantage,” Freddie tells them. Addressing Roger, he bestows a smile. “Let him mire himself in the mistaken belief we’re coming apart, albeit slowly, help sell the idea he can work the same on – for fuck’s sake, we need to come up with something to call you.”
“Can think of a name or two.”
Lifting his head, Brian smiles at his old school friend and former bassist. He notices Trish’s gaze as she serves a customer, the slight creasing of her brow as she takes in the gathering, the unhappy set of her mouth. Guiltily, he returns his attention to Tim. “You were quick.”
“Luckily for you,” Tim tells him, “I’ve nothing on this afternoon.” Settling himself at the seat left open for him, he frowns at Freddie. “Now, what’s this nonsense you’re up to?”
“Revolution,” Cliff drawls, taking a mouthful of his pint.
“Rebellion,” Terry scoffs, checking his watch and draining his own drink. “Right, much as I’d like to stick about for this, I’ve things to do. Being surplus to requirements, as it were.”
“Do us a favour and keep it under your hat,” Freddie warns.
“Mum’s the word,” Terry assures, getting to his feet.
“If it’s going to work,” Smile’s frontman frets, dark eyes sharp as they measure Terry up, “no word of what we’re planning can get out.”
“Won’t leave this table,” Terry promises easily. Brian bites his lip. A good man and always willing to lend a hand he might be, but keeping quiet isn’t one of Terry’s strengths. If there’s a good story to tell, odds are he’ll tell it. As if to prove their fears valid, the big man calls across to the bar where several of the pubs’ patrons sit as he leaves the building. “Saw nothing, eh Trish?”
“Saw something,” the woman replies, casting a warning glance at those at the small corner tables.
“Not to worry, you’ll keep them all in line.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Freddie mutters grimly, sharing a look with Brian as The Crowd’s drummer departs.
“We’ll sit on him,” Cliff snorts, shaking his head. Brian hopes so. He’s always found Terry to be a bit of a loudmouth, personally.
“All very cloak and dagger,” Tim observes. “You going to let me in on it?”
“We’re setting Roger up with a new band,” John reveals.
Raising an eyebrow, Tim glances at the teenager. “Not got enough on your plate, Sunshine?”
“We’re setting a trap,” Freddie explains. Filling Tim in, they’re surprised when the bassist shakes his head.
“Much as I love a Freddie special,” he tells them. “I’ve not got that sort of time, chaps.”
“Humpy Bong doing well?” Dennis wonders and if there’s jealousy that his own band seem to leave a lot to chance rather than work, he doesn’t let it show. But then, Brian reflects, the brothers and The Crowd to a fair extent never let much bother them. Gets in the way of the good time, Cliff had once explained, outlining the groups somewhat haphazard approach to gigging.
It makes Brian shiver, that cavalier attitude. Why Tim spent so much time trying to earn their respect for Smile he doesn’t know – The Crowd are stunningly confident, admittedly, supremely sure of themselves in a way Smile’s members haven’t quite managed other than by mimicry and have been around a touch longer than the band Brian, Tim and Freddie had formed, but there’s no real drive. Nothing to really aspire to, other than that certainty they wear like capes.
“Moving up,” Tim replies to Dennis, that hint of smugness touching his tone the way it always drove Freddie up the wall.
Brian briefly shuts his eyes, seeing the inevitable loom before him. That’s bound to ensure Freddie’s going to fight to get Tim on side, rather than turn to plan B.
“It won’t take too much of your time,” the singer promises.
“Said the Bishop to the Actress,” Dennis snorts, breaking the locking of horns Tim and Freddie were just about to start.
Thank fuck for tired old jokes, apparently.
“Just a handful of gigs,” Brian tempts.
Folding his arms across his chest, Tim cocks an eyebrow at him. “Got those gigs, have you?”
“That’s the point,” Roger replies, rolling his eyes. “Numpty.”
“They’ve got to come from Raymond,” Freddie elaborates. “Everything does.”
“He really going to fall for it?”
“There’s a chance he won’t,” John shrugs. “No sense in not trying, though.”
“Just so you can get back at a man you can walk away from?”
“So we can ensure he doesn’t get up to his tricks with someone else,” Freddie says firmly. “And so he’ll keep his distance, and let his friends know that also.”
“Oh? Got a mate now, has he?”
“Potentially,” Freddie agrees with a glance at Roger.
Catching the look, Tim also turns towards the boy. “Got yourself in another pickle, have you?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t sound like that to me.”
“Don’t need you, then,” Roger declares, making Freddie’s eyes widen as he hears his careful plan smash to the ground and Tim’s eyebrow to make another upwards journey. “Not if you can’t hear what we do.”
Snorting as he realises Roger’s tempting Tim by calling to his ego, Brian smiles at his old friend. “He’s been studying at the feet of a master for the past months. You’re not going to win this one, mate.”
“Brian, I mean this with every ounce of my soul; fuck off.”
“Lovely.”
With a sigh, Tim shakes his head again. “Sorry, chaps. Not this time. Got one or two things on my plate that need my attention, you know how it is.”
“Of course,” Freddie agrees, clearly disappointed and for once fighting desperately not to descend into accusations of treachery or high handed offence.
“Ah, come on, Tim,” Dennis cajoles, surprising Brian. While he knew the younger man would be up for shenanigan’s and mischief, he hadn’t realised Dennis would become so invested in the scheme.
There’s a spot of what he thinks might be fun, and then there’s backing a somewhat dodgy plan by someone who’s, at best, a casual acquaintance. Perhaps all those gigs they asked the keyboardist to take the camera for a spin has brought him closer than Brian had guessed, or perhaps he simply sees Tim as a decent choice to fill the roles they’re looking for, but he leans across the table slightly to make sure he has Tim’s gaze.
“Den?”
“If it’s going to happen, it needs to be soon, right?”
“Not much time to get it set up,” Cliff nods.
Seizing the opening the brothers are making, Brian weighs in also. “Look, you’ll play a few gigs, covers of course. We’ll pick ones you all already know, do just enough rehearsal to sell you as a band, nothing too demanding.”
“Get in, get out, quick like,” John nods, another who’s surprising Brian with his support for this.
“It’s not as if Smile and The Crowd aren’t going to be functioning as normal,” Freddie adds blithely.
“Humpy Bong and all that gotta come first,” Roger nods seriously, with a quick glance at Smile’s frontman.
Tim continues to sit with his arms folded, observing the group about him. Then, with a sigh, he shakes his head again. “Suppose,” he ventures, “I were to help out –”
“Marvellous, darling!”
“Suppose,” Tim cautions firmly, before getting back to his main concern. “How’s it gonna look if I piss off for something for my lot on short notice?”
“That’s where Freddie comes in,” Brian nominates swiftly. He’s no good for that – a fact that’s well established amongst his friends and leaving the singer as the natural choice to come up with ways out.
“Mmmm,” Tim hums, although more in acceptance than disagreement. “There’s also my own reputation at stake here.”
“What, with a fucking catastrophe of a band attached to you?” Roger guesses. Shrugging, the boy brushes a hand through his hair casually, eyeing Tim. “Humpy Bong’s not strong enough for that?”
“Watch it, sunshine.”
“That’s the beauty of it all,” Freddie enthuses, smiling at Roger before turning to Tim. “It’s all Raymond; his gigs, his leadership – his fault.”
“End of the day,” Brian nods, “what we’re aiming to do here is put it all back on him. He wants to be in charge? Fine. Your band’s a reflection on his management.”
“No push back,” John says, lopsided smile making an appearance as he takes a moment to remember Smile’s way of dealing with Raymond.
Once again, Tim takes his time. “What if he’s actually good at this?”
“He’s middling at best,” Freddie dismisses, before catching Tim’s eye and showing the concern some consideration. “With the aid of our saboteurs, we’re not planning on drawing this out any length of time.”
“Don’t want to split attention for too long,” Roger nods. “A few weeks is good enough.”
Uncrossing his arms to drum his fingers on the table, Tim keeps his own counsel, eyes distant and downcast.
“I’m half arsing this,” he announces suddenly. “If the bugger sees through it all, I don’t want to hear it.”
“We’ll present you as a wastrel,” Freddie tells him happily. “Flighty and filthy, a vagabond of a musician.”
“Charming.”
Eyes widening, Roger turns hurriedly to Freddie. “Tony.”
“What’s that?”
“Tony. He can sing.”
“I’m not sure I follow –”
“Pop him out front,” Brian realises, “take the pressure off Tim’s part with a genuine member of the band that thinks it’s all real.”
“Legitimise the thing,” Cliff muses, sending Brian a knowing smile. “Bri, me ol’ mucker, you’re more devious than you let on. What devil’s been whispering in your ear, then?”
Pointing towards Roger, Brian replies, “Was his idea.”
“You cottoned on fairly rapid,” Dennis accuses, smirking.
“Who’s Tony?” Tim interrupts.
“Roger’s good friend,” Freddie trills, delighted to have his plan take flight so readily.
“Fucking wanker,” Roger describes darkly.
“Been a bit of an issue,” Brian nods.
Glancing amongst the three of them, Tim grimaces. “Sounds terrific.”
“He’s perfect,” Freddie declares, the glee in his tone all too evident. “I’m disappointed I didn’t think of him myself.”
“Losing your touch,” Dennis, who must be as baffled as Tim at this turn of events, says. “Old man brain catching up to you?”
“I’ll have you know –”
“He’s having an off day,” Brian snorts, sending a look his best friend’s way to let him know to let it slide.
Pursing his lips, Freddie straightens slightly, smoothing his hair over his shoulder. “Now we have our players, what’ll we call the play?”
“Mirage,” Cliff snorts, reaching for the remains of his pint.
“Smoke and Mirrors,” his brother similarly suggests.
“The End,” Roger giggles.
“All fine suggestions,” Freddie nods, “but let’s not tip our hands too much, darlings.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Tim glares. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had any ideas?”
“Plenty.”
“Such as?”
“No, darling, Plenty. As in, plenty of talent, plenty of promise, plenty of opportunities to make money off.”
“Plenty of ways to fuck ‘im over,” Roger grunts, tone lowering to that deeper husk.
“Makes you proud, don’t it?” Dennis asks his brother. “The youth of today.”
“Little’un’s growing up fast,” Cliff agrees, wiping a pretend tear from his eye exaggeratedly.
“Sod off.”
“My baby!” Cliff wails theatrically. “Where’d he go?”
“Could work,” Tim muses, ignoring the antics of his supposed new bandmates as Roger growls threateningly at the pair from The Crowd. “Plenty.”
“Subject to change,” Freddie says modestly. Brian doubts the name of the fake band is really that important to him; rather the intricate delicacy of the strands he’s looking to weave about the man. It’ll be endlessly satisfying to have Raymond close the knot himself, trapping himself in the web of deceit.
“Maybe Tony’ll have an idea or two,” John muses, lips just tipped upwards.
“I’m coming with you,” Brian says to Roger, the idea of Tony rising in his mind once more. “No arguments.”
Scowling, Roger shakes his head. “Be better if –”
“No arguments, Rog.”
“Listen to mother,” Freddie advises playfully, but the glance Brian receives speaks to the frontman’s reservations. Tony, aside from being an unknown and outside of the scheme they’re initiating, has proven unpredictable in other ways. The more they can keep him in line, the better.
Brian bites his lip. He has the feeling he might just be popping in to hear his friend’s band over the course of Raymond’s downfall, and not just to help with the mess they’re looking to create. As much as someone without the circle of knowing can greatly sell the idea of the band and add weight to its validity, they’re ultimately an added layer of danger to it.
And Tony’s dangerous enough by himself.
A worry for another day, when the band is up and running – and possibly not as bad as all that anyway. Roger’s not going to be alone, after all, Cliff, Dennis and Tim will be as much a part of it all as the small drummer.
“Plenty?” he asks thoughtfully.
“Perhaps not the final name,” Freddie shrugs. “But as good a placeholder as any.”
“Fuck it, we could let Raymond choose the bloody name,” Roger suggests.
“Just full of good ideas today, aren’t you?” Freddie chuckles.
“Perfect,” Tim says, settling more comfortably onto his stool and, Brian would say, into the band. “We get him sick of Plenty and beg him for something better.”
“The more involved he is, the better.”
“Going to turn up to rehearsals, is he?” Dennis wonders.
“More than likely,” Freddie grimaces. “In which case, we’ll have to meet elsewhere.”
“Brilliant,” Tim grouses, but makes no further objection.
“Right, let’s get a round in,” Freddie declares. “Do this properly.”
“Here’s to Plenty,” Brian agrees with a smile.