Fic: Resistance (chapter five)
May. 13th, 2010 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mjartrodTitle: Resistance
Rating: Mostly PG-13 (will warn if a particular chapter has a higher rating).
Feedback: Is always welcome in any form.
Warnings: Slash, language, sex and violence.
Summary: Matt Bellamy has always been a conspiracy theory enthusiast. But what happens when one day, as Muse are leaving Hong Kong after a gig for a month’s break, what is supposed to be a routine interrogation before boarding a flight turns into a manhunt operation where Matt unwillingly plays the main role?
Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictional, even those based on real people and material (having been altered, added or left out for dramatic purposes). I do not own Muse.
Author’s note: The idea came to me after picking up an amazing book in a bookstore a couple of months ago – Stieg Larsson’s first book of the Millennium trilogy. Go read, they're absolutely fantastic.
Would also like to thank Anya for being my beta again and for putting up with my rants and insecurities about this :p
CHAPTER 5
Matt was snapped out of his restless sleep by the noise of a faraway siren and flung into a state of immediate alertness. He cursed when he realised he had dozed off.
A new day had begun, the sunlight hurting his eyes, but their surroundings had not changed. They were still in the same place they had settled the night before, in the yard at the back of a restaurant, hidden from view by a pile of cardboard boxes. Which was both a blessing and a curse. If on one hand it meant that they had not been caught, on the other it also meant they were still trapped in ‘Twilight Zone’ territory.
The day before, Matt had acted mostly on instinct, somehow knowing that he could not allow himself to be captured. Now the implications of what he had done – of what could happen – had fully sunk in. The truth was that instead of flying back to England for a break, he had become a fugitive, fleeing the police at home and in Hong Kong after being unjustly accused of a serious crime. Not to mention the fact that exactly what he would be charged with if caught remained a mystery.
Conjuring theories the whole night in an attempt to uncover the culprit responsible for his predicament had been a futile exercise; he couldn't organise his thoughts coherently, driving himself crazy with frustration with nothing to show for it. He remembered feeling quite exhausted and eventually being overtaken by slumber, his dreams plagued with images of Chinese prisons, a doomed career and no one to turn to.
Sandwiched between the scratchy wall and Dom, the two friends huddled together, Matt had actually been glad when his band mate had pressed against him in his sleep, seeming to seek his body warmth in the chill of the night. The drummer slept still, his head pillowed on Matt’s shoulder.
“Dom,” he said quietly, gently shaking his band mate, the blond stirring. “Wake up, mate. We have to get up.”
The drummer straightened with a jolt, seemingly disoriented for a moment, before staring at Matt and rubbing his eyes. He looked around and Matt could sense the exact moment when the depressing realisation of their situation struck his friend. A shiver ran through his body when Dom moved away, and he rubbed his arms vigorously, feeling the loss of his comforting warmth.
“You idiot, you let me sleep all night. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Matt shrugged, not bothering to reply, and hauled himself to his feet, wincing as the movement reminded him how numb and achy his body was from prolonged contact with the cold ground. He scanned their surroundings to get his bearings. Back out on the main street, there were people on the sidewalks talking on the phone and carrying briefcases; kids with backpacks skipping along beside their parents. It was a regular Monday morning; they looked the same in almost every part of the world. “Come on, let’s get some coffee and look for a place with Internet.”
They slipped out of their hiding place quietly, not wanting to attract attention, and decided to check the café a few doors down the road. There were a few tables taken with people having breakfast, some of them reading the newspaper, but the two musicians stayed by the counter after a quick trip to the toilets. While they waited for the takeaway coffees they had ordered, contemplating asking after libraries and web cafés in the area, Dom glanced distractedly up at the TV in the corner. The wind was knocked out of him.
“Fucking hell!” He tugged on his friend’s sleeve. “Matt, look.”
Both their faces were plastered on the screen and they felt their blood chilling in their veins when they realised they were on the morning news. There were subtitles in Cantonese running along the bottom of the picture, a grave, unemotional male voice talking over images of them on stage and being interviewed only two days before for a local TV show, interspersed with footage of police officers at the airport.
The plastic cups of coffee were placed in front of them on the counter and in a compromising exchange of looks, the server turned to the TV. Both Matt and Dom watched as the man’s suspicion became enlightenment, but they didn't wait for the consequences. They were out the door and turning at the first intersection before the man could utter a word, burning their throats and nearly spilling their coffees as they gulped them down in order to discard the cups as soon as possible.
“Jesus Christ, we could be recognised anywhere!” Dom shuddered and then something else dawned on him. “That’s how they knew we were at the café yesterday, Matt! Someone must have identified us from the telly and called the police!” He was breathless. “Has nothing to do with tracing our phones!”
“You don’t know that, we’re not taking any chances. And we need to disguise ourselves somehow,” Matt replied, painfully aware that they had to detour from their original plan for the morning. How much more complicated could things get?
There was a great murmur of voices, the familiar sense of a large crowd not far away, and they stopped after turning a corner – they’d come to a street market. Stalls lined the way right and left, almost piling on top of each other, stands in the middle of the pedestrian only street, too, and it was unbelievably crowded. All sorts of stuff was for sale, both useful and junky, and although stopping to shop at a moment like this seemed ludicrous, without making at least a minimal effort to alter their appearances from the way they looked on the news, roaming about in broad daylight was just asking for trouble.
They strolled around, checking the outside stalls, staying clear of the indoor shops where there might be a TV. Matt’s coat was too much of an attention grabber, so that was the first thing they needed to take care of; they searched for something he could swap it for, and it didn’t take long to find a simple knee-length black coat that fitted him. The stallholder, an old Chinese woman, didn't seem remotely interested in such a transaction, though. She kept shaking her head, waving her hands in refusal.
“Ugly, ugly!”
“You know how much this is worth?” Matt argued, nearly shoving the garment in the woman’s face. “It’s bloody Dior!”
“No sell here!”
“Sell it in the women’s section,” Dom drawled, quite entertained by the whole exchange. In any other circumstances, he would be cracking up at Matt’s exasperation and Morgan and Tom would be having the time of their lives. His smile faded at the memory of their friends; he hoped they were all well and that the police weren't hassling them too much. Regrettably, they had no way to contact them, it was just too dangerous.
The woman had apparently considered Dom’s flippant suggestion, though, and after further bargaining with Matt (the drummer eyeing a pile of shirts with interest and thinking how he could do with something warmer to wear himself) she ended up flashing them a toothy smile, several crooked teeth showing, and closing the transaction.
“Worst deal ever. I loved that coat.” Matt shook his head in disappointment, having managed only a straight swap after all the haggling. He put on the new coat and buttoned it up over the laptop bag, relieved to finally be wearing something warm again and no longer be carrying the old one. He soon perked up even more as they came across a health and beauty stall. “Is that hair dye?”
Dom would have been incredulous if he hadn’t known Matt for so long. Why did he always, invariably, pick the most complicated way of doing things? “You’re not dying your hair now, Matt.”
But the other man was already snagging a pack off the shelf, the shade jet black, and counting the coins in his hand. “I am, and you are, too. We blend in better with dark hair. How much money have you got?”
What?! He could not be serious. “I am not going to dye my hair black!” Dom was aghast at the mere suggestion.
“I know cheap blond suits you better, but this is an emergency.”
“Matt, we don’t have enough money for that.” It was worth a lie.
“We don’t? Hmmm...” Making sure there weren’t any cameras around and that nobody was watching, Matt slipped the dye box into the laptop bag under his coat, smirking at the blond. “Now we don’t have to worry about that.” And he pulled on Dom’s arm.
Dom searched frantically around, knowing Matt would inevitably win the argument if he didn’t find another solution fast. His eyes fell on a rack of black hoodies at the next stall. Bingo. Shaking off the hand that was clutching his arm, he took off his leather jacket and grabbed one his size to try on over his low-cut white t-shirt. Matt, who was all but tapping his foot in impatience, waited with a disapproving pout, muttering bitchily, the word ‘pricey’ reaching Dom’s ears.
Cheap, fitted and warm. Perfect. Dom pulled the hood over his head and walked past an unimpressed Matt to pay with his chin held high, blond hair safely covered.
***
“How does it look?”
Matt turned from the cracked mirror on the wall to Dom. The drummer blinked, startled from his thoughts, and studied his shirtless band mate. He had always preferred Matt with black hair. Even under the current circumstances, he was not indifferent to how it looked. It was shiny, fluffier after being washed and hastily dried under the hand dryer, and it made his extraordinary eyes stand out; made everything about him stand out.
“You, uh...” He cleared his throat. “You’re right, you’re gonna blend in better with the crowd like that.”
Matt seemed satisfied with his reply and put his clothes back on before reaching for the laptop bag; Dom shrugged into his leather jacket, pulled his hood over his head and put his aviators on, which had been in his pocket all along. They looked at each other, took a deep breath and headed out of the men’s public toilet they had been locked inside for the past hour.
Feeling slightly safer now, they ventured towards a small tourist information stand not far away, where they gladly took a map, careful not to look the girl who worked there in the eye. More than ever, they had no wish to run into anyone who had attended the gig. Who knew what the fans were thinking or how they would react if they recognised them. They looked for cyber cafés in the map’s legend, discovering right away one in a shopping centre nearby.
The administrator of the small Internet terminal was a young man who was too busy playing computer games to give them much attention and he quickly unlocked a PC for them, rushing back to his own. The only users there, they couldn’t have asked for more. They sat together hunched over in front of the screen, rubbing their hands, Matt instantly taking over the keyboard. He began with a basic Google search, not too phased by the Chinese keyboard.
“Jesus, we’re all over the place.” Dom was dismayed at the headlines of the articles the search had bought up, Matt scrolling down the page.
From ‘Hong Kong is not aMUSEd – Matt Bellamy suspect in crime!’ in The Sun, to ‘Muse front man sought in connection with fraud case’ on the BBC, to the NME’s ‘Matt Bellamy caught in scandal’, among many others, there was no doubt that this time they were definitely making the news for something other than their music.
“Fucking hell!” Matt was floored. “They think I robbed Warners!”
The accusations against Matt were stamped all over the UK and international press. The articles didn't supply detailed information, but it was apparent that Matt, together with other individuals whose names hadn’t been revealed, was accused of misdirecting funds from A&E Records through sub-label Helium-3. It had all come to light after the disappearance of the CEO of an entertainment company based in Hong Kong, which also had ties to Warners. This person was believed dead after going missing three days previously; his name was Zhang Hongbo.
Warners had chosen not to release a statement and no one had been available for comment, although several theories were floating around that it had been Matt’s intention to take a hit at the record company and help finance Muse’s own independent label.
They were speechless.
“Their lawyers are gonna eat us alive,” Dom concluded sombrely, Matt already googling the missing Zhang Hongbo.
“I’ve got nothing to do with this, I’ve got nothing to do with this,” Matt repeated like a mantra. “We need to find this guy, Dom. If he’s the one who accused me, then he’s the bastard behind all this. If he didn’t, then he can be an ally.”
“But they seem to have reason to believe he’s dead. You don’t think this is someone at Warners trying to screw us over?” Dom opined, unsure. “I don’t get it, after all the problems we’ve had with labels in the past, this is the one time I couldn't see any of this coming! This pretty much equals a breach of our contract, right? How much would they be getting?”
Matt tapped his fingers on the table. “This is all bollocks. All of it.” He tried to rearrange ideas in his brain as he waited for a page to load. “There is nothing here about the triads, and that was the first thing the police asked me about. This isn’t about Muse, they’re not targeting the band. They’re targeting me, it’s a personal vendetta.”
“Matt, if they target you, they target the band. How much of the band is associated with your name? There’s no Muse without you.”
“There’s no Muse without any of the three of us,” Matt said softly, looking aside at his band mate. “It can’t just be that. This Zhang guy who’s missing and that they think I blackmailed... I reckon I’m a suspect. I’ve got seven million quid in my account but he’s disappeared or died or whatever. I was caught in the middle of something. Me, not the band.” He paused. “They’re gits anyway, but this has nothing to do with Warners.” He scanned the information on the screen. “Shit, there you go. See what I mean? Why isn’t any of this in the news? Why wasn’t this reported?”
Dom leaned forward to check what Matt was referring to: a small article from an alternative news source reported rumours that Zhang had been shot several times outside a well known hotel in Hong Kong. No body had been found, but he had been missing since the alleged shooting and it was thought likely he was dead. No suspects had been named but speculation pointed to the involvement of a triad.
“There’s your triad again...” Dom rubbed his chin.
“This makes no bloody sense!” Matt dropped his hands to his thighs after logging in to his e-mail account; he wanted to print the incriminating messages, the laser printer luckily right beside them. “Do they think I’m a member of a triad because maybe a triad shot that guy? And if I’d threatened him then I must be a part of it?”
Dom was starting to get a headache with all the information that was being shoved at them. A CEO that was shot or went missing after receiving threats through Matt’s e-mail address, triads, money in Matt’s account that had probably been stolen from Warners...
“What are you looking for now?” Dom asked, Matt typing after having quickly scanned his many unread e-mails. He was doing a search on triads in Hong Kong. “You think you’ll find anything?”
“I don’t know...” Matt pointed to one of the names that had come up, arching an eyebrow. “How d’you think you say this? S-u-n Y-e-e O-n Triad.”
“Sun Yee On Triad,” Dom tried to pronounce. “Is that the one they mentioned to you at the airport?”
The singer nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds right. You know, I’ve actually seen this name before, I’ve heard about it. There was all sorts of stuff about them awhile back on some website I bookmarked,“ he paused for a moment to read a few paragraphs. “Well yeah, that’s them, alright. They’re active in England, too. I’ve read stuff that implied they made deals with Western governments, and that’s how they’ve managed to settle and survive there.” Glancing over the monitor to the administrator, who was still enthralled in his game, Matt clicked ‘print’ on the task bar. “Fucking tossers. They must’ve planned this, they’re probably the ones behind it all!” They’d certainly have the resources at their disposal for such an elaborate operation; he just didn't know why they were targeting him.
Dom cringed at the amount of paper Matt was using.
“Listen,” he took a hand to his rumbling stomach, “I’m gonna grab something to eat, d’you want something?” Dom looked around after Matt refused with a shake of the head, trying to spot an inexpensive fast food restaurant. “I’ll be right back then.”
“Yeah, yeah. Be careful,” Matt waved him off without taking his eyes away from the computer.
Dom stood with his hands in his pockets, shooting a last glance over his shoulder at Matt, who was slouched with his feet up on the chair Dom had just vacated, but staring at the screen like a hawk. The drummer felt weirdly uncomfortable at leaving him there alone, and for a moment he wondered if he shouldn’t just go back and wait for Matt to finish. It wasn’t wise to linger too long in one place anyway; they should probably be thinking about leaving.
The food court was located on the top floor of the shopping centre, and there were massive queues as it was lunchtime. He got some Chinese for himself and also for Matt, despite his earlier refusal; he couldn't let him pass out from hunger just because he was too absorbed researching to be bothered with something as mundane as food.
Eating on his way back down, Dom wondered how the hell they were going to survive without any money. They only had a few bills and coins left and that wouldn’t buy them much beyond one or two more meals. Matt had suggested earlier that if gambling wasn’t illegal in Hong Kong, he’d give it a try multiplying what they had in a few hands of poker; Dom wasn’t entirely sure he had been joking.
Dom was so preoccupied with his thoughts, meal almost finished, that he didn’t immediately notice that something was wrong when he reached his destination. He entered the space and looked around; there was no sign of Matt. He frowned, his heart beating faster, and for a moment he questioned whether he’d ended up on the wrong floor. He checked the monitor that could have been the one they’d used - the page was showing something about crime syndicates in Hong Kong; he looked over to the administrator - it was the same person who had unlocked the terminal for them earlier. The packages of food he was holding fell on the table, chopsticks rolling to the floor, as Dom bolted towards the young man.
“Where is my friend? You know, the guy with black hair, we were sitting over there..?”
“Oh, he left a couple of minutes ago,” he casually replied as he typed.
“Where, which way did he go?”
“Uh...” The man finally raised his head and pointed towards an avenue of shops to their right. “There, I think. Hey, you didn't pay!”
But Dom had already dashed off. Had they been seen? Had Matt managed to escape before someone got to him? What if they had already caught him? His heart raced as he imagined a million scenarios, all equally terrifying. They never should have split up, what were they thinking?
Rating: Mostly PG-13 (will warn if a particular chapter has a higher rating).
Feedback: Is always welcome in any form.
Warnings: Slash, language, sex and violence.
Summary: Matt Bellamy has always been a conspiracy theory enthusiast. But what happens when one day, as Muse are leaving Hong Kong after a gig for a month’s break, what is supposed to be a routine interrogation before boarding a flight turns into a manhunt operation where Matt unwillingly plays the main role?
Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictional, even those based on real people and material (having been altered, added or left out for dramatic purposes). I do not own Muse.
Author’s note: The idea came to me after picking up an amazing book in a bookstore a couple of months ago – Stieg Larsson’s first book of the Millennium trilogy. Go read, they're absolutely fantastic.
Would also like to thank Anya for being my beta again and for putting up with my rants and insecurities about this :p
CHAPTER 5
Matt was snapped out of his restless sleep by the noise of a faraway siren and flung into a state of immediate alertness. He cursed when he realised he had dozed off.
A new day had begun, the sunlight hurting his eyes, but their surroundings had not changed. They were still in the same place they had settled the night before, in the yard at the back of a restaurant, hidden from view by a pile of cardboard boxes. Which was both a blessing and a curse. If on one hand it meant that they had not been caught, on the other it also meant they were still trapped in ‘Twilight Zone’ territory.
The day before, Matt had acted mostly on instinct, somehow knowing that he could not allow himself to be captured. Now the implications of what he had done – of what could happen – had fully sunk in. The truth was that instead of flying back to England for a break, he had become a fugitive, fleeing the police at home and in Hong Kong after being unjustly accused of a serious crime. Not to mention the fact that exactly what he would be charged with if caught remained a mystery.
Conjuring theories the whole night in an attempt to uncover the culprit responsible for his predicament had been a futile exercise; he couldn't organise his thoughts coherently, driving himself crazy with frustration with nothing to show for it. He remembered feeling quite exhausted and eventually being overtaken by slumber, his dreams plagued with images of Chinese prisons, a doomed career and no one to turn to.
Sandwiched between the scratchy wall and Dom, the two friends huddled together, Matt had actually been glad when his band mate had pressed against him in his sleep, seeming to seek his body warmth in the chill of the night. The drummer slept still, his head pillowed on Matt’s shoulder.
“Dom,” he said quietly, gently shaking his band mate, the blond stirring. “Wake up, mate. We have to get up.”
The drummer straightened with a jolt, seemingly disoriented for a moment, before staring at Matt and rubbing his eyes. He looked around and Matt could sense the exact moment when the depressing realisation of their situation struck his friend. A shiver ran through his body when Dom moved away, and he rubbed his arms vigorously, feeling the loss of his comforting warmth.
“You idiot, you let me sleep all night. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Matt shrugged, not bothering to reply, and hauled himself to his feet, wincing as the movement reminded him how numb and achy his body was from prolonged contact with the cold ground. He scanned their surroundings to get his bearings. Back out on the main street, there were people on the sidewalks talking on the phone and carrying briefcases; kids with backpacks skipping along beside their parents. It was a regular Monday morning; they looked the same in almost every part of the world. “Come on, let’s get some coffee and look for a place with Internet.”
They slipped out of their hiding place quietly, not wanting to attract attention, and decided to check the café a few doors down the road. There were a few tables taken with people having breakfast, some of them reading the newspaper, but the two musicians stayed by the counter after a quick trip to the toilets. While they waited for the takeaway coffees they had ordered, contemplating asking after libraries and web cafés in the area, Dom glanced distractedly up at the TV in the corner. The wind was knocked out of him.
“Fucking hell!” He tugged on his friend’s sleeve. “Matt, look.”
Both their faces were plastered on the screen and they felt their blood chilling in their veins when they realised they were on the morning news. There were subtitles in Cantonese running along the bottom of the picture, a grave, unemotional male voice talking over images of them on stage and being interviewed only two days before for a local TV show, interspersed with footage of police officers at the airport.
The plastic cups of coffee were placed in front of them on the counter and in a compromising exchange of looks, the server turned to the TV. Both Matt and Dom watched as the man’s suspicion became enlightenment, but they didn't wait for the consequences. They were out the door and turning at the first intersection before the man could utter a word, burning their throats and nearly spilling their coffees as they gulped them down in order to discard the cups as soon as possible.
“Jesus Christ, we could be recognised anywhere!” Dom shuddered and then something else dawned on him. “That’s how they knew we were at the café yesterday, Matt! Someone must have identified us from the telly and called the police!” He was breathless. “Has nothing to do with tracing our phones!”
“You don’t know that, we’re not taking any chances. And we need to disguise ourselves somehow,” Matt replied, painfully aware that they had to detour from their original plan for the morning. How much more complicated could things get?
There was a great murmur of voices, the familiar sense of a large crowd not far away, and they stopped after turning a corner – they’d come to a street market. Stalls lined the way right and left, almost piling on top of each other, stands in the middle of the pedestrian only street, too, and it was unbelievably crowded. All sorts of stuff was for sale, both useful and junky, and although stopping to shop at a moment like this seemed ludicrous, without making at least a minimal effort to alter their appearances from the way they looked on the news, roaming about in broad daylight was just asking for trouble.
They strolled around, checking the outside stalls, staying clear of the indoor shops where there might be a TV. Matt’s coat was too much of an attention grabber, so that was the first thing they needed to take care of; they searched for something he could swap it for, and it didn’t take long to find a simple knee-length black coat that fitted him. The stallholder, an old Chinese woman, didn't seem remotely interested in such a transaction, though. She kept shaking her head, waving her hands in refusal.
“Ugly, ugly!”
“You know how much this is worth?” Matt argued, nearly shoving the garment in the woman’s face. “It’s bloody Dior!”
“No sell here!”
“Sell it in the women’s section,” Dom drawled, quite entertained by the whole exchange. In any other circumstances, he would be cracking up at Matt’s exasperation and Morgan and Tom would be having the time of their lives. His smile faded at the memory of their friends; he hoped they were all well and that the police weren't hassling them too much. Regrettably, they had no way to contact them, it was just too dangerous.
The woman had apparently considered Dom’s flippant suggestion, though, and after further bargaining with Matt (the drummer eyeing a pile of shirts with interest and thinking how he could do with something warmer to wear himself) she ended up flashing them a toothy smile, several crooked teeth showing, and closing the transaction.
“Worst deal ever. I loved that coat.” Matt shook his head in disappointment, having managed only a straight swap after all the haggling. He put on the new coat and buttoned it up over the laptop bag, relieved to finally be wearing something warm again and no longer be carrying the old one. He soon perked up even more as they came across a health and beauty stall. “Is that hair dye?”
Dom would have been incredulous if he hadn’t known Matt for so long. Why did he always, invariably, pick the most complicated way of doing things? “You’re not dying your hair now, Matt.”
But the other man was already snagging a pack off the shelf, the shade jet black, and counting the coins in his hand. “I am, and you are, too. We blend in better with dark hair. How much money have you got?”
What?! He could not be serious. “I am not going to dye my hair black!” Dom was aghast at the mere suggestion.
“I know cheap blond suits you better, but this is an emergency.”
“Matt, we don’t have enough money for that.” It was worth a lie.
“We don’t? Hmmm...” Making sure there weren’t any cameras around and that nobody was watching, Matt slipped the dye box into the laptop bag under his coat, smirking at the blond. “Now we don’t have to worry about that.” And he pulled on Dom’s arm.
Dom searched frantically around, knowing Matt would inevitably win the argument if he didn’t find another solution fast. His eyes fell on a rack of black hoodies at the next stall. Bingo. Shaking off the hand that was clutching his arm, he took off his leather jacket and grabbed one his size to try on over his low-cut white t-shirt. Matt, who was all but tapping his foot in impatience, waited with a disapproving pout, muttering bitchily, the word ‘pricey’ reaching Dom’s ears.
Cheap, fitted and warm. Perfect. Dom pulled the hood over his head and walked past an unimpressed Matt to pay with his chin held high, blond hair safely covered.
“How does it look?”
Matt turned from the cracked mirror on the wall to Dom. The drummer blinked, startled from his thoughts, and studied his shirtless band mate. He had always preferred Matt with black hair. Even under the current circumstances, he was not indifferent to how it looked. It was shiny, fluffier after being washed and hastily dried under the hand dryer, and it made his extraordinary eyes stand out; made everything about him stand out.
“You, uh...” He cleared his throat. “You’re right, you’re gonna blend in better with the crowd like that.”
Matt seemed satisfied with his reply and put his clothes back on before reaching for the laptop bag; Dom shrugged into his leather jacket, pulled his hood over his head and put his aviators on, which had been in his pocket all along. They looked at each other, took a deep breath and headed out of the men’s public toilet they had been locked inside for the past hour.
Feeling slightly safer now, they ventured towards a small tourist information stand not far away, where they gladly took a map, careful not to look the girl who worked there in the eye. More than ever, they had no wish to run into anyone who had attended the gig. Who knew what the fans were thinking or how they would react if they recognised them. They looked for cyber cafés in the map’s legend, discovering right away one in a shopping centre nearby.
The administrator of the small Internet terminal was a young man who was too busy playing computer games to give them much attention and he quickly unlocked a PC for them, rushing back to his own. The only users there, they couldn’t have asked for more. They sat together hunched over in front of the screen, rubbing their hands, Matt instantly taking over the keyboard. He began with a basic Google search, not too phased by the Chinese keyboard.
“Jesus, we’re all over the place.” Dom was dismayed at the headlines of the articles the search had bought up, Matt scrolling down the page.
From ‘Hong Kong is not aMUSEd – Matt Bellamy suspect in crime!’ in The Sun, to ‘Muse front man sought in connection with fraud case’ on the BBC, to the NME’s ‘Matt Bellamy caught in scandal’, among many others, there was no doubt that this time they were definitely making the news for something other than their music.
“Fucking hell!” Matt was floored. “They think I robbed Warners!”
The accusations against Matt were stamped all over the UK and international press. The articles didn't supply detailed information, but it was apparent that Matt, together with other individuals whose names hadn’t been revealed, was accused of misdirecting funds from A&E Records through sub-label Helium-3. It had all come to light after the disappearance of the CEO of an entertainment company based in Hong Kong, which also had ties to Warners. This person was believed dead after going missing three days previously; his name was Zhang Hongbo.
Warners had chosen not to release a statement and no one had been available for comment, although several theories were floating around that it had been Matt’s intention to take a hit at the record company and help finance Muse’s own independent label.
They were speechless.
“Their lawyers are gonna eat us alive,” Dom concluded sombrely, Matt already googling the missing Zhang Hongbo.
“I’ve got nothing to do with this, I’ve got nothing to do with this,” Matt repeated like a mantra. “We need to find this guy, Dom. If he’s the one who accused me, then he’s the bastard behind all this. If he didn’t, then he can be an ally.”
“But they seem to have reason to believe he’s dead. You don’t think this is someone at Warners trying to screw us over?” Dom opined, unsure. “I don’t get it, after all the problems we’ve had with labels in the past, this is the one time I couldn't see any of this coming! This pretty much equals a breach of our contract, right? How much would they be getting?”
Matt tapped his fingers on the table. “This is all bollocks. All of it.” He tried to rearrange ideas in his brain as he waited for a page to load. “There is nothing here about the triads, and that was the first thing the police asked me about. This isn’t about Muse, they’re not targeting the band. They’re targeting me, it’s a personal vendetta.”
“Matt, if they target you, they target the band. How much of the band is associated with your name? There’s no Muse without you.”
“There’s no Muse without any of the three of us,” Matt said softly, looking aside at his band mate. “It can’t just be that. This Zhang guy who’s missing and that they think I blackmailed... I reckon I’m a suspect. I’ve got seven million quid in my account but he’s disappeared or died or whatever. I was caught in the middle of something. Me, not the band.” He paused. “They’re gits anyway, but this has nothing to do with Warners.” He scanned the information on the screen. “Shit, there you go. See what I mean? Why isn’t any of this in the news? Why wasn’t this reported?”
Dom leaned forward to check what Matt was referring to: a small article from an alternative news source reported rumours that Zhang had been shot several times outside a well known hotel in Hong Kong. No body had been found, but he had been missing since the alleged shooting and it was thought likely he was dead. No suspects had been named but speculation pointed to the involvement of a triad.
“There’s your triad again...” Dom rubbed his chin.
“This makes no bloody sense!” Matt dropped his hands to his thighs after logging in to his e-mail account; he wanted to print the incriminating messages, the laser printer luckily right beside them. “Do they think I’m a member of a triad because maybe a triad shot that guy? And if I’d threatened him then I must be a part of it?”
Dom was starting to get a headache with all the information that was being shoved at them. A CEO that was shot or went missing after receiving threats through Matt’s e-mail address, triads, money in Matt’s account that had probably been stolen from Warners...
“What are you looking for now?” Dom asked, Matt typing after having quickly scanned his many unread e-mails. He was doing a search on triads in Hong Kong. “You think you’ll find anything?”
“I don’t know...” Matt pointed to one of the names that had come up, arching an eyebrow. “How d’you think you say this? S-u-n Y-e-e O-n Triad.”
“Sun Yee On Triad,” Dom tried to pronounce. “Is that the one they mentioned to you at the airport?”
The singer nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds right. You know, I’ve actually seen this name before, I’ve heard about it. There was all sorts of stuff about them awhile back on some website I bookmarked,“ he paused for a moment to read a few paragraphs. “Well yeah, that’s them, alright. They’re active in England, too. I’ve read stuff that implied they made deals with Western governments, and that’s how they’ve managed to settle and survive there.” Glancing over the monitor to the administrator, who was still enthralled in his game, Matt clicked ‘print’ on the task bar. “Fucking tossers. They must’ve planned this, they’re probably the ones behind it all!” They’d certainly have the resources at their disposal for such an elaborate operation; he just didn't know why they were targeting him.
Dom cringed at the amount of paper Matt was using.
“Listen,” he took a hand to his rumbling stomach, “I’m gonna grab something to eat, d’you want something?” Dom looked around after Matt refused with a shake of the head, trying to spot an inexpensive fast food restaurant. “I’ll be right back then.”
“Yeah, yeah. Be careful,” Matt waved him off without taking his eyes away from the computer.
Dom stood with his hands in his pockets, shooting a last glance over his shoulder at Matt, who was slouched with his feet up on the chair Dom had just vacated, but staring at the screen like a hawk. The drummer felt weirdly uncomfortable at leaving him there alone, and for a moment he wondered if he shouldn’t just go back and wait for Matt to finish. It wasn’t wise to linger too long in one place anyway; they should probably be thinking about leaving.
The food court was located on the top floor of the shopping centre, and there were massive queues as it was lunchtime. He got some Chinese for himself and also for Matt, despite his earlier refusal; he couldn't let him pass out from hunger just because he was too absorbed researching to be bothered with something as mundane as food.
Eating on his way back down, Dom wondered how the hell they were going to survive without any money. They only had a few bills and coins left and that wouldn’t buy them much beyond one or two more meals. Matt had suggested earlier that if gambling wasn’t illegal in Hong Kong, he’d give it a try multiplying what they had in a few hands of poker; Dom wasn’t entirely sure he had been joking.
Dom was so preoccupied with his thoughts, meal almost finished, that he didn’t immediately notice that something was wrong when he reached his destination. He entered the space and looked around; there was no sign of Matt. He frowned, his heart beating faster, and for a moment he questioned whether he’d ended up on the wrong floor. He checked the monitor that could have been the one they’d used - the page was showing something about crime syndicates in Hong Kong; he looked over to the administrator - it was the same person who had unlocked the terminal for them earlier. The packages of food he was holding fell on the table, chopsticks rolling to the floor, as Dom bolted towards the young man.
“Where is my friend? You know, the guy with black hair, we were sitting over there..?”
“Oh, he left a couple of minutes ago,” he casually replied as he typed.
“Where, which way did he go?”
“Uh...” The man finally raised his head and pointed towards an avenue of shops to their right. “There, I think. Hey, you didn't pay!”
But Dom had already dashed off. Had they been seen? Had Matt managed to escape before someone got to him? What if they had already caught him? His heart raced as he imagined a million scenarios, all equally terrifying. They never should have split up, what were they thinking?