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Post by starskyhutch76 on Aug 12, 2017 1:06:57 GMT
Note: This was originally titled "Batwing People Who Died", but since this story is based on the infamous murder case involving Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols, I figured using a Sex Pistols related title would be more fitting.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Aug 12, 2017 1:10:42 GMT
Prologue
Jason Todd lifted the bass guitar up and rested it in his lap as he sat on the edge of his bed. The new Fender Precision Bass had been a Christmas present from Dick. He thought to himself how much his life had changed over the last few years. He would never have been able to afford a guitar like this on his own. His real father had never given him anything but scars and his first guitar had
been a gift from a friend.
Now, he had a real family. Dick and Kara filled the parent roles. Helena and Rachel seemed to switch back and forth between aunt and bossy big sister. A head with inquisitive eyes suddenly peeked from behind the door leading into his room and he sighed internally. …. And Sonia was filling out the role of snoopy little sister quite well. "Watcha doin'?"
"I've got a new concept for you, it's called knocking," Jason said.
"Sorry," Sonia said. "I heard you playing. My dad used to play the guitar. Yours sounds different. Deeper sounding."
"That's cause it's a bass. I play the bass," Jason said, continuing to practice.
"My dad always said he'd teach me to play, too," Sonia said wistfully. "He never got to because…. You know,"
Jason suddenly felt bad for being short with her. Nice job, Jason, he told himself. Not everyone thinks of the loss of their real parents as trading up. "If you'd like, I can teach you how to play," he said, drawing an enthusiastic smile from the girl. He gestured to the guitars leaning against the wall and
said, "grab one of those and I'll show you a few things."
Sonia picked up the oldest looking one. It was covered in scratches, dirt, and stickers. "Why does this one look so beat up compared to the others?" A look of alarm came into her eyes when she saw his anxious expression.
"Here. I'll trade ya," he said, taking the bass from her and handing her his own guitar.
"All your other guitars are so nice and new looking. Why do you have that one?"
Sonia asked.
"This one was a gift from the guy who got me interested in playing," Jason said. "I could never get rid of it."
"Who was that?" she asked.
He gestured with his shoulder to a signed poster on the wall behind them. It had four punk rockers leaning against a graffiti covered brick wall. At the bottom of the poster was the logo of the band's name, "The Clique Killers".
"You knew them?" Sonia said, wide eyed. "I thought… well, with your clothes and
hair and all… well, there are a lot of other guys at your school that dress like that, too."
"No, I'm not just some poser like the guys at my school," Jason smirked. "I think a lot of those guys just started copying me when I started going there."
"Were all of them your friends?" Sonia asked, looking at the poster.
"Well, not at first," Jason said. "Just the bass player, Sammy Psycho. Till I helped them out a couple of times."
"Saved them from some bad guy?"
"Nah," Jason laughed. "This was way before my Batwing days. " He reached under the bed and pulled out an old scrap book. "I used to spend most of my time out on the streets to avoid my old man. It was hard out there, but it beat getting smacked around all the time."
He flipped through the scrap book past several photos of his old friends from his
street kid days. It amazed him to think of how many of them were no longer around. He couldn't think of any kids close to his age who had seen as much death as he had. .. except maybe the young girl sitting next to him.
Finally, he came to a picture of a younger Jason Todd standing with a young spiky haired punk rocker who looked to be in his late teens. "One of the guys I knew was John Simon, here, before he started calling himself Sammy Psycho. We used to compare bruises. Me, the ones my dad gave me and him the ones he got from whatever guy his hippie burn out mom was shacking up with that week. "
"Shacking up?"
"I'll explain when you're older. " Jason grinned as he flipped through the pages of them mugging for the camera. A newspaper article fell out from the pages and Sonia leaned down to pick it up. She unfolded the page and looked at the large headline.: "Punk Rocker Sammy Psycho kills Girlfriend." That date…. " Sonia said. "That would've been after you were already Batwing."
"Jason's expression grew grim. "Well…" he said hoarsely. "I did see him one more
time…."
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Aug 12, 2017 1:13:45 GMT
Pt1
Jason's mind flashed back to the days he used to hang out with John Simon on a regular basis. Back then, before Richard Grayson took him off the streets, he
was someone he didn't like very much. He did what he had to do to survive, though, and he knew without a doubt that if he hadn't been that person, he
wouldn't still be around. During the Boogeyman case, his friends in the Jr JSA had caught a glimpse of who that person might have been and they hadn't liked that
person very much either, so he had made a pact with himself that he'd never let that person resurface again if he could help it.
On the day John Simon would become Sammy Psycho, the two of them had no idea fate would be calling. They only knew that they hadn't eaten in two days and
they planned to do something about it. Their plans usually involved some sort of scam. That's how they came to be standing in the middle of a grocery store
trying to be as loud and obnoxious as humanly possible. They were yelling the latest from the Dead Kennedys at the top of their lungs, in all its offensive
glory, much to the chagrin of customers and employees alike. John Simon punctuated his singing with air guitar riffs that made it hard for Jason to keep
a straight face, so he joined in, waving his "playing" arm wildly and accidently smacking the pimply face of the young assistant manager who'd come to tell them
to knock it off.
"Watch it, you smelly punk little $#%&" he exclaimed in a cracking voice.
"What did you say, Mother $%#&!!" John Simon Roared, flying at the ginger-haired manager. "Rrrr-a-a-a-a!!!" Jason took that opportunity to bolt.
Five minutes later, the older punk literally came flying out the doorway of the grocery store. "And stay out or we'll call the cops next time!" one of the
crockery store employees who had tossed him out exclaimed.
"I can't believe they didn't call the cops," Jason said through a mouthful of sandwich while helping his friend up. "I told you to create a distraction. Not
attack someone."
"What can I say," John Simon said with his usual half smirk. "I like to fight. I can't believe you don't .You're so damn good at it. "
"Part of winning is knowing when not to fight," Jason said as they sat down on the curb. "If I'd joined in, we wouldn't be having lunch," He reached into his
jacket and pulled out another one of the deli sandwiches he had swiped from the store and handed it to his friend.
"How come you always get to be the brains of this operation?" John Simon laughed as he opened the wrapper. "I'm oldest."
"Cause I'm the only one in this operation who's ever sober," Jason said.
"I'm sober now," John Simon said. "Hope you got something to help me with that."
"Way ahead of you," Jason reached back into his jacket and pulled out a beer and handed it to his friend.
John Simon opened the beer and brought it up to his mouth when he noticed Jason wasn't pulling out another. "You ain't got one for yourself?"
"Not enough time," Jason smiled. "I went for the food first." He patted his very full looking jacket for emphasis, creating a rustling noise.
John Simon laughed. "I'll split it with you."
"Half a beer a piece isn't going to satisfy either one of us. You take it."
"If you say so," John Simon shrugged. Taking a swig. He looked across the street at a boutique called "The Love Shack". That shop across the street…"
"What about it?" Jason said.
"It's got an "audition" sign in the window. Not `help wanted'. That's kind've weird."
"I'd be a little leery of any audition at a place called `the Love Shack," Jason chuckled.
"Heck yeah!" John Simon said, letting his empty sandwich wrapper fall to the ground and jumping to his feet. "We can go be porn stars! Get all the women and
all the drugs! C'mon, man, let's go!"
"I can't Jason said. The Love Shack was a clothing store, but some of the items sold were of a decidedly adult nature. "You gotta be 18 to go in there. My fake
ID got taken up at that club we went to on Saturday."
"Oh yeah," John Simon said glumly, sitting back down.
"Just because I can't get in doesn't mean you shouldn't check it out," Jason said. "I can wait here until you get back."
"Thanks pal," John Simon said, handing him the beer. He quickly trotted across the street, nearly colliding with a long-haired guy with a guitar case who was
leaving the store in a huff. "Don't bother," the irate musician said. "They don't know what they want." John Simon gave him a confused look and entered the
store.
Twenty minutes later, John left the building and walked across the street back to where Jason sat. He was carrying a neon green bass guitar and a bewildered expression was etched on his face.
"So what happened?" Jason asked.
"I got the job," John Simon said, clearly shocked.
"So you're gonna be a porn star?" Jason laughed.
"No, I'm gonna be a rock star," he said, holding up the guitar.
"What?!!"
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Aug 12, 2017 1:21:30 GMT
Pt 2
"But you can't play!" Jason exclaimed.
"You know that and I know that," John Simon exclaimed. "But Davey McDavid said he liked my look."
"Oh yeah, you're gorg-ee-eous," Jason laughed. "Who's Davey McDavid anyway?"
"Ha hah. Very funny. No, really. He said I had the look he was going for with the band's image. He liked my shirt and he liked my hair."
"Well, I can't take the blame for that," Jason said, pointing to John Simon's shirt. It was a Pink Floyd T-shirt he'd gotten from the Salvation Army, ripped up, pinned back together with safety pins, and written "I Hate" over "Pink Floyd" in magic marker. I'm the one that cut your hair like that, though. He should be giving me a job."
"Just be happy for me, okay?" John Simon said nervously. "Jeez…. I gotta learn
how to play this thing."
"How you gonna do that?" Jason asked.
"I need my records," he replied.
"Aren't those at your mom's?" Jason groaned at the thought of going to his mom's house. At the least, it would be depressing. At the most, dangerous. He could tell from his friend's eyes that he was determined to go there with or without him, so he had to go with him to make sure he didn't get himself beaten up. He
knew his friend and even if the latest suitor hadn't planned on attacking him, he'd keep digging at the guy until he exploded. Some of those ex-hippie boyfriends had been self-proclaimed pacifists. John Simon had shown them they weren't nearly as committed to passive resistance as they had previously
thought.
John Simon really and truly hated hippies, seeing the whole lifestyle as something that had cheated him of any chance at a normal childhood. He still had nightmares where he was five years old again and his mother was shoving bricks of hash into his trousers to get them past the border cops. In the dreams, their
luck had finally run out but it was him they arrested rather than the irresponsible hippie mom who had chosen to use her small child as a drug mule. Jason and John Simon hopped out of the back of the pick-up truck as it came to a red light and gave the driver a wave of thanks as he took off.
"He coulda let us ride in the cab with him," John Simon grumbled. "It got freaking' cold once we started moving.
"He was probably afraid you'd bash his head in with that thing," Jason laughed, pointing to the guitar. "That's about how much use it is to you right now.
"You're probably right," John Simon smirked. "But I aim to do something `bout
that."
They walked down the street to where Darlene Simon's small, dingy house lay. The yard was filled with uncut grass, weeds, and garbage that no one had bothered to pick up. Thankfully, at least the driveway appeared to be empty. John Simon took a deep breath and walked towards the front door. "Well, here
goes nothing."
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Aug 12, 2017 1:26:58 GMT
Pt 3
John Simon knocked on the door. There was no answer. After a few seconds, when no one came to the door, he knocked again. Still no answer.
"Guess no one's home," Jason said.
"Maybe," John Simon said. He turned the door knob. It was unlocked, so he walked in, followed by John.
They found Dolores Simon sitting on the sofa with the lights out. "Johnny boy," she said, smiling up at him. Her face was that of a once beautiful woman who had allowed her looks to start to go to seed. She had always called him Johnny boy. Whereas everyone else had always called him `John Simon', both first and last name together, for as long as he could remember since there had always been a bunch of Johns in his classes.
"Ma, didn't you hear us knocking?" John Simon asked.
"If I'd known it was you, I would've answered the door," she said softly. She rose from the sofa, stretching to reveal the figure that still allowed her to acquire a steady stream of boyfriends to pay her bills. She threw her arms around John Simon and buried his face in his neck and said, "You scare me so much when you take off like this."
John Simon put one arm around and patted her on the back, embarrassed by this display of emotion in front of his friend.
"Is Mike still here?" he asked. I didn't see his car.
"Oh no," she said, sounding almost like a schoolgirl, smoothing down her gypsy skirt as she sat back on the sofa. "I sent that bum packing. I didn't like the way he treated you anyway."
"He ran out of money, huh," John Simon said.
"Yeah," Dolores shrugged. She brought her hand up to her mouth when she realized he'd caught her. She smiled back up at him and said, so are you back for good?"
"For a bit," he said. "Then I gotta go on tour. I got a job."
"You do?" she said brightly. Jason could have sworn he saw dollar signs appear in her eyes. She could be awfully capitalistic for a hippie.
"Yeah, I'm in a band now," he said proudly.
"A band? But you don't play anything. Are you gonna sing?" she asked.
"Nah, they've already got a front man. Calls himself Johnny Hate. I think if I'd got there first I might've gotten it. It seems like all the guy cared about was how people looked. I didn't get there first, though, so now I'm bass player…"
"But you don't …"
"I know, Ma," he said, rolling his eyes. That's why I gotta practice. Are all my albums still here?"
"Everything's still in your room," she said. "Mike wanted to toss out all your stuff when you two had that big fight and you left, but I stopped him."
"That's a relief," John Simon. Too many times, he had come home to find his possessions smashed and sitting on the curb.
"So let's celebrate," Dolores said cheerfully. She held up a syringe and said, "I was just about to shoot. Want to help me out?"
"Only if you've got enough to go around," John Simon said, taking the syringe from her as he felt for a vein in her arm. Jason tried to stifle a grimace as he watched his friend insert the needle into his mother's arm and then hand her the syringe for her to return the favor.
"Do you want a hit?" she asked.
"Aw mom, he's just a kid," John Simon said as she stuck the needle into his arm.
"He's older than you were when you started," she said.
"Nah, that's okay, I've gotta use your John," Jason said, excusing himself from the room.
"Well, it's here if you change your mind," Mike was in such a hurry to get out of here he left his whole stash!"
After he finished in the bathroom, Jason went straight to John Simon's room to wait for him, trying to escape the atmosphere of the rest of the house. It was the sort of gloom you only found around hardcore addicts.
He let out a depressed sigh as he flopped on the bed. It was hard enough to stay off drugs when all his friends were doing them without a friend's mom practically throwing them at him. His life might have been pretty screwed up, but he knew that most kids had to hide that sort of thing from their parents and
what he had witnessed was not right. Years later, he would look back and realize his friend had never really stood a chance.
Jason lay on the bed among the scattered foodstuffs he had acquired from the grocery store, He was scarfing down a handful of pilfered potato chips as the door opened and John Simon entered his room. His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead was beaded with sweat. He looked thoroughly wired. When he saw Jason, he looked down as if he were embarrassed. "Don't say anything," he grumbled.
"I wasn't going to," Jason said. John Simon knew how he felt about drugs, so all
that needed to be said had already been said between them on the subject.
"So what's this brilliant plan of yours?" Jason asked.
"No plan. Just practice," John Simon said "Practice... practice … practice."
John Simon tore through his collection, finally choosing a Ramones album. Wired
on amphetamines, he worked through the rest of that night, learning each song
note for note. By the time Jason woke up the next morning, John Simon knew how
to play all the songs on that album.
The story of how Sammy Psycho had taught himself to play the bass in one night would become a rock legend… one that most thought of as more of an urban legend. Jason could tell anyone who asked that it was true. The truth was, he wasn't great, … or even very good.. but it was enough to get him through the sort of five cord songs the Clique Killers would play. John Simon was ready to make the transition to Sammy Psycho and his place in punk rock history.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Aug 12, 2017 1:28:45 GMT
Pt 4
The next few weeks were a wild, hazy ride for Jason and John Simon. For John Simon, because his new status was nearly overwhelming, and for Jason because he got to come along for the ride.
Davie McDavid was delighted by the level of Insanity and chaos John Simon brought to the group. He was wild, irreverent, unpredictable, and maybe even just a little bit dangerous…. Just the image he wanted for the group. At one of the rehearsals, the drummer, Tony, made the comment Johnny Hate, “Johnny, John Simon here is as psycho as that crazy ol’ dog of yours, Sammy.” After that, the nickname Sammy Psycho stuck and that’s what he was known as from then on.
He hated the name ‘Sammy Psycho’, but that didn’t stop him from making fast friends with Johnny Hate as they rivaled for the spotlight onstage. To anyone watching their performances, it was as if the band had two front men since Johnny Hate was the lead singer but Sammy Psycho was the one to whom audiences seemed to respond. He might have claimed to hate his new stage name, but he fed the Sammy Psycho persona every chance he got, spitting back at the punk audiences when they spat at him. When one drunk member of the crowd threw a glass at him, he grabbed a mike stand and broadsided him, drawing a roar of approval from the crowd. Davie was more than happy to make bail for him in payment for the press and notoriety things like that would get the band.
The trouble with developing a celebrity persona is that you almost never get to leave it. Between performances, interviews, photo-ops and people stopping him on the street, Sammy Psycho pretty much had to be on 24-7. It became hard to tell where John Simon ended and Sammy Psycho began.
The pressure of maintaining the façade became all too apparent as his drinking and drug use grew. A rock reporter would later say you could track the band’s wealth and popularity by how wasted Sammy Psycho was at the time. That was part of the persona, too, though, so no real effort was made to help him. If he seemed out of control, that was just Sammy being Sammy.
Jason first realized his friend was going through more than just his usual bout of substance abuse after one of the many spontaneous parties that had erupted after a show. Jason and Sammy Psycho were hanging out with a couple of their old pals, Mitch and Stretch, who had been fellow street kids, too. Now that Sammy was on his way up, Mitch and Stretch were at just about every show, partially for the music but mostly for the free food and booze and a place to crash.
Mitch had brought a stray kitten that he had found on the way to the hotel. Everyone was playing with the kitten when Sammy suddenly snared its neck with a noose he had fashioned from a shoe string.
Mitch and Stretch seemed frozen in wide-eyed shock at the insanity of what they were witnessing. Sammy Psycho let out a malevolent laugh as the kitten hissed and spat, writhing about helplessly as it tried in vain to escape from the sudden death trap.
Jason leapt to his feet and snatched the noose from his hand. “What the hell are you doing, you freak?!!”
Mitch suddenly snapped out of his daze and grabbed the kitten from Jason. “Leave my cal alone,” he growled at Sammy Psycho. He and Stretch left shortly after that.
“What the hell was that?” Jason exclaimed.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” John Simon stammered. “I … I …,” he suddenly slumped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
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Post by johnreiter902 on Aug 12, 2017 13:20:28 GMT
Very engaging story so far. Keep it up.
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Post by dans on Aug 13, 2017 0:47:45 GMT
So the party side of Sammy rubbed off on Mitch, I guess. Glad he didn't pick up the psycho too!
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Post by DocQuantum on Jun 10, 2019 20:04:59 GMT
Just got rid of spam. Worth it to reread this great story, though!
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Jun 11, 2019 10:27:27 GMT
Thanks! I really need to get back to this.
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