- Forgive us, mister. Indeed, there was a misunderstanding. But, - he paused, - after all, the TV is at full volume at such a time ...

“Sergeant,” Dean interrupted him with a kind smile, completely taking possession of himself by this time, “I understand everything.” Yes, my friend and I violated public order and, of course, we will pay a fine if you consider it necessary to punish us. But, you see, my friend today performed for an hour and a half at a concert, - he’s the drummer of one of the bands, as you probably know, he became nervous, drank too much and didn’t give a little account of his actions. See, - he showed his bruise on his jaw, - as far as he does not report to them ...

- Indeed? - The policeman became interested, carefully examining the jaw. “Are you all right, Mr. Call?” Maybe a doctor call?

- Doctor? - Dean laughed. “What kind of doctor is there, Mr. Forestes!” Nobody died from one good blow! ... My friend and I just argued which actress was prettier. He likes Grace Kelly, I like Shirley MacLaine. That's all...

“And again, it’s all because of a woman ...” Forestes grunted. “Well, that means everything is in order,” he drawled, turning to the administrator. He tried to argue with something, but the policeman continued: “Mr. Thomson, excuse me, of course, but you really should have been convinced of your assumptions before calling us.” This story can unpleasantly affect your clientele. Mr. Call, I'm sorry for disturbing you. Enjoy your stay and stay in Queen City. And good luck. - Both saluted and turned to leave. The administrator hurried after them.

Call followed the departing persons, showed his tongue to the yawning vocalist, and returned to the room with relief. John also stood motionless in one place. Dean approached him.

- Hey, you, there, in the bathroom! He called. - You can go out ...

“So,” said Baldry slowly, “I drank too much.” And do not give myself an account of the actions. And, it turns out, I still like Grace Kelly ... Maybe you should move once more, and, Dean Call?

When Michael, supporting Alice, left the bathroom, the following picture appeared to his look: Dean and John stood opposite each other in the middle of the room and laughed out loud ...

New York. July 1992.

Hall eagerly awaited the answer. Everyone saw that the author — a smiling American, of medium height, a slightly balding man, with gray hair over his temples, despite his 46 years — seemed to have fallen into some kind of stupor. Minutes went by for minutes, nobody broke the oppressive silence, but everyone understood that once he had to be broken. And they broke it.

“Mr. Call,” the reporter said again, “so what about the Sharks of History?” It's true?

And Dean once again asked himself the question, who took care that this story was the property of the newspapers? He remembered the noise around their group literally on the second day, as soon as one Seattle newspaper printed a few lines about the incident. He remembered how much time they had to fight off all at once and how the small message eventually grew into whole pages - from interviews that nobody gave, with photos that nobody did ... Some even claimed that This story is documented in the form of a film. But, when suddenly the police officially showed interest in this case, for some reason there was no film, although those who assured everyone of her presence said that they themselves had seen these shots and that it was shot as a good porn film ...

But Dean remembered something else that was not written in the book: how the entire press service of the group worked on creating the image of musicians during the first American tour, to arouse public interest in them, and as someone from the young press -Secretaries came up with the idea of ​​organizing a certain mystical performance-ritual, taking into account the specifics of Seattle, its surroundings and legends surrounding the local forests.This performance was supposed to present the members of the group as some neophytes, spiritualized barbarians, obsessed with the secret magical knowledge of the Celts and Saxons, supposedly open to musicians almost by Aleister Crowley. (Especially for eroticspace.info) The fact that Crowley died before the birth of some members of the group and, in general, had little to do with the true secret knowledge of English paganism, didn’t particularly bother anyone: the bet was placed on a big scandalous name, not on facts. Especially Collu somehow remembered one detail: their singer Bobby had to not part with the book "The Art of Magic in Ancient Britain" and, if possible, quote it in each interview. And, of course, the erotic component should have been present in this ritual - and how could it be without it? What kind of secret cult without sex? ... First, the idea came to mind, but then someone seemed to doubt the possibility of its realization. Then there simply wasn’t enough time for detailed thinking through. And, as far as Dean remembered, in the end, the idea was safely buried. Although ... maybe he forgot himself?

And the newspaper people were waiting. And I had to answer something. For some reason, it is always not enough for people to just listen to their favorite music, they need to be sure that their favorites are the most evil people on the planet, capable of any depravity and any act. Like, this is how their freedom is manifested in their lives; they say that they manage it, for they supposedly always stand "on the other side of good and evil" ... "Why do people need it this way? Call asked himself again. - Why can't you just take your idols with funny, mischievous and lucky guys, just like everyone else? Well, maybe just a little better playing the guitar than others, a little better writing poetry than many others ... What gives it to people? Maybe this is how they justify their own depraved desires? ... "

Dean leaned close to the microphone, coughed, and in a conspiratorial tone said:

- Guys, would you like it to be true? ..