As they were making their way back to their dressing room, Paul felt a tap on his shoulder.
�Mr McCartney?� a familiar voice asked as he turned around.
�Officer Connelly,� Paul said, surprised to find the policeman looking a bit abashed. �Is there something I can do for you?�
�Well, as a matter of fact, I brought my little girl along today and I was wondering if you�d be so kind as to say hello to her. She�s such a big fan.�
Paul sighed inwardly. People were always asking them favours like that. Then again, he thought, he did do a good job in looking after me. I suppose I do owe him a favour. �Of course,� Paul said, wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve. �Why don�t you come by our dressing room in a minute and bring her along?�
�Well, the problem, sir, is that she�s in a wheelchair and it�s sort of hard to manoeuvre that thing around these corridors. But she�s just around the corner there so I�d really appreciate it if you could just come with me and say hello to her. It�ll only take a minute.�
�Oh, well�� Paul said hesitantly, looking over his shoulder to see his band mates chatting with a few other people, �Well, I suppose that�ll be all right. Let me just tell my mates.�
�Certainly, Mr McCartney, I really appreciate it,� the policeman said happily as Paul made his way over to the others.
He returned a minute later, carrying a towel Neil had pressed into his hands. �Right then, lead the way.�
*
John, George and Ringo entered their dressing room and immediately started to change out of their stage suits and into a clean, or rather, dry set of clothes.
�Macca�d better get a move-on,� John grumbled, pulling on his jacket. Although he was happy the gig had gone without incident, it had been a long day for all of them and their nerves had certainly been stretched to their limits.
He started when Brian burst into the room, looking rather flushed. �Where�s Paul?� he demanded anxiously as several police officers followed him into their room.
Ringo raised his eyebrows at Brian�s less than calm demeanour. �He went to see some little girl with one of the officers,� he said, zipping up his trousers.
�What�s the matter, Eppy? Did he steal your pink slippers?� John asked jokingly.
Brian looked back at him coldly. �A man was just found in one of the storage closets, bound and gagged, stripped to his underwear. He claims to be officer Abraham Connelly.�
�WHAT?!� All three Beatles gaped at him. Even officer Henshaw, who had remained posted on one side of the door, seemed startled at hearing the news.
�Then who did Paul just leave with?� George asked, already dreading the answer.
Brian suddenly whipped around to face the officer who appeared to be in charge of the whole operation. �How could this possibly have happened?� Brian spluttered, furious. �Doesn�t anyone know Connelly, the real Connelly?� he amended. �How could this- this impostor have pretended to be one of your police officers? How could you not have noticed?�
�I�m terribly sorry, sir. Officer Connelly transferred in from another police station only yesterday and -� the police Chief started.
�Oh, for God�s sake, man, we don�t have time for your fuckin� excuses,� John interrupted. �We�ve got to find Paul!�
*
Paul McCartney followed the tall, burly policeman around a corner and as he was about to round the next, his head suddenly exploded with pain. His knees buckled, black dots twirling in front of his eyes. He felt someone grab him around the waist and drag him off, but he was too disoriented to do anything about it.
The pain in his head was blinding him, literally. He tried to speak, to call for help, to shout, but the only thing that would come out was a weak whimper.
Nausea was threatening to overtake him and he feebly struggled against the hands that were dragging him, fearing he was about to vomit. His struggles were rewarded with a rough shaking and a harsh voice hissing something in his ear, but he couldn�t understand what it was saying.
Something warm was slowly trickling down his forehead. He tried to wipe it away, but as he slowly managed to lift his arm, his assailant grabbed it and twisted it behind his back. This elicited another pained groan from Paul, which landed on deaf ears. Instead, whoever was dragging him along tried to force him to walk upright, making his surroundings spin.
Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, Paul realized what was happening. He�s going to kill me! No! A surge of adrenaline enabled him to kick his attacker in the knee, hard. To Paul�s delight, the man grunted in pain and tripped, losing his grip on Paul. Paul scrambled away, desperately trying to regain his footing. Ignoring the blinding pain in his head, he finally managed to get to his feet and stumbled away from his assailant.
�Paul!�
Paul froze upon hearing his name. It sounded far away, but suddenly hope soared. �Help!� he managed to croak, but the small delay cost him his escape. A rumbling roar sounded from the floor, where Paul�s enraged attacker launched himself at him. He grabbed Paul around the legs and Paul went down, striking his head on the floor. Black dots accompanied a searing pain, this time blotting out his entire vision as his body went completely limp.
