Authors Note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The premise for this story, a rap video shoot, was suggested by a reader. I hope I've managed to bring their concept to life satisfactorily.
Bedlam
Prologue:
The hospital known as 'Our Lady's Blessed Sanctuary', or by its shortened form 'Refuge' had closed in late 1987, the last of its long-term patients transferred to the newly built county psychiatric hospital a few miles closer to the city.
It was bought by a property developer who had aspirations of turning it into luxury apartments but planning complications eventually put and end to that ambition. Seeking to recoup his expenditure on the dilapidated building, the developer hit upon the idea of retaining its medical furnishings and hiring it out as a location for TV shows, movies and even as a location for themed parties and conventions.
When the rap duo knows as 'Punish-herz' decided to make a comeback attempt after ten years semi-retirement, preparing for the release of the latest track, Bedlam, from their album of the same name, the former hospital seemed an ideal location.
Krush and Cill were both in their early forties now and had happily left the music business behind them, content to enjoy the fruits of their earlier success. However, the cost of this retirement plan soon outstripped their net worth, both of them having much of their assets taken in messy divorces. So, they had begun the journey back into the public eye, spending weeks recording their tracks in the studio. All they needed now was a top-notch video with which to launch their triumphant return.
Their manager, keen for his clients to return to success, had organised a crew for the filming with a director, multiple cameramen and technicians, a team of four backing dancers, make up, costumes, the duo's two security guards and even catering. All this along with the hiring of the hospital set for twenty-four hours. It should have been easy, everyone involved being consummate professionals. However, the shoot hadn't gone well, Krush and Cill continually missing their marks, fluffing their attempts to lip sync to their track. The video endured take after take as the director, Allen, worked to get it right. But as the day drew on, tiredness among the entire crew further disrupted their efforts to get things right.
Chapter One:
"Christ if I have to listen to this song one more fucking time," the cameraman, John, muttered to Allen as the director waved at the sound technician to cut the feedback.
"Don't worry, that's the last shot of them rapping. We're nearly done... at least I hope so," Allen replied, his own frustration in the project very evident in his stance and tone.
"What the fuck is it even about? I've heard it a hundred times today and I still don't get it," another camera operator, Maggie, chimed in as she joined the two men.
"I asked the same question when their manager played it for me," Allen explained, "Apparently it's a discourse on the country's failing health system and the chaos that this failure inflicts on its vulnerable citizenry."
"You... are... shitting me," John said in total disbelief, "I thought these guys were all about 'bitches, guns, money and hoes' and all that crap."
"Seems they are looking to reach a more enlightened audience," Allen said, his voice betraying his doubts in how successful that endeavour would be.
"Yeah, well I can't see Generations Z and Alpha going for this shit," Maggie said shaking her head.
"And that's why they are paying us shit money to make this shit show," Allen said wryly.
Allen then waved the two operators away as he spotted the rapper's manager striding towards him. Dressed in a three-piece suit that probably cost more than Allen's car, the musicians' manager didn't look happy.
"How much longer?" he snapped irritably, "This has gone into overtime now, it's costing me a fortune."
Allen rubbed at his face, and then turned to his monitor, scrolling through what had been recorded so far. Blearily he turned back to face the fuming manager, clearing his throat as he did in an effort to focus his tired mind.
"Okay, look I need some more shots, the girls dancing around the two guys, some shots of them entering the ward in their hospital gowns. That kind of thing." He waved a hand towards the eerily empty hospital room, six metal framed hospital beds lining the two walls with an accoutrement of ancient looking medical devices and monitors beside the beds.
"And we need everyone for this?"
"Umm, no," Allen pondered the question. "You want to save money then I need the four girls, my two camera techs and that's it, well Krush and Cill also obviously. The lighting is in place, I can run the track over what I film so I don't need the boom for sound. You can even send that catering crew home. Have them all collect their equipment tomorrow."
"Fine, well as you need Krush and Cill, I'll be leaving their security here as well." The manager checked his watch bad temperedly, tapping at the face for emphasis. "I'm hours late for a call to the East coast, I'm out of here. Tell the boys I'll talk to them tomorrow." With that he swung back towards the assembled crew, snapping out orders that saw the majority of them drift away, relieved their long day was over.
<0>
"You done this before?" Lance asked Jamal.
Jamal was Krush's security guard, he'd grown up with the two rappers, leaving the gang life he'd led for the first twenty years of his life, to join Punish-herz as their head of security. After the duo had wound down their careers, Krush had kept Jamal on, out of friendship more than a need. Jamal hadn't been the best of his employees. Sure, he was big, strong and intimidating, everything you'd want in a bruising security guard. His fondness for chemical stimulation however made him unreliable and if he hadn't been a childhood friend then he'd have been kicked to the kerb years before.
As the years had passed, his bulk had grown, now fat and loose flesh hung on his corpulent frame where once it had been muscle and sinew. His bosses had taken more of an interest in remaining fit and healthy, habit more than necessity. Jamal had never seen a particular need to keep himself in shape though.
Lance was a new face. He'd taken over as Cill's personal protection but the young black man had very little experience in the role. Two years before he had been a star player on his high school football team but protecting a quarterback wasn't exactly an in-demand skillset once he'd graduated. He'd only landed this job because he was willing to work cheap and the rap duo's manager had an eye for a bargain. Lacking in experience Lance found himself listening and following the older black man's lead at every turn.
"Fuck yeah, dis is nuthin'. You should'a been on the crew when we launched the first album. That was some crazy shit back then." Jamal leaned back in the chair he occupied, flicking a peanut up into the air, catching it in his open mouth as it fell back to earth. There had been a bowl of peanuts sitting on the refreshments table and he had liberated a handful to relieve the boredom.
"I was six when the first album came out" Lance protested.
"Yeah, yeah," Jamal said talking over him, "Well trust me it was off the hook. Wall to wall bitches and blow. Best fuckin' year of my life."
Lance turned to look at the four young women currently performing for the cameras, dancing an intricate set as they crossed over beds and down the aisle between them. All four had been outfitted in skimpy nurse's outfits, too tight tops that plunged down at the front to reveal black bras beneath. Short skirts that rode high up their thighs, each raised leg and bending manoeuvre revealing flashes of the black underwear and stockings they wore. The young black man looked on in appreciation as each of the women continued to perform their dance moves in the four-inch heels that completed the outfits.
"Not much wrong with what I'm seeing," he commented to Jamal.
The lighting that had been set up for the shoot generated a wave of heat that bore down on the remaining members of the company. The old hospital itself was chilly, especially now as night was drawing in but this particular room was more akin to a boiler room than a hospital ward. The four dancers had a sheen to their skin that was only partly down to the oil they'd had applied to their flesh as part of the make-up.
"Oh, they fine as fuck, 'cept of course they is too good to talk to the likes of us," Jamal replied. "Didn't used ta be dat way, I used to tap almost as much as the talent did" he jerked a thumb towards the two rappers in case Lance was in any doubt as to whom the talent was before continuing to bemoan his change in circumstances.
"Course I was younger then, not as much of me to love neither" he patted his stomach almost affectionately, "but I got to feed this mutha fucker every fucking day." At this his hand ceased to pat his stomach and grabbed instead at his crotch. Jamal bellowed out a laugh as Lance turned his head away in embarrassment. The younger man spotted one of the dancers, Olya he thought her name was, looking over at the source of the laughter. Her face crinkled in disgust as she observed Jamal pawing at his crotch.
"Yeah, don't think you've made any friends among these dancers, that's for sure" he said turning back to Jamal.
"Fuck 'em" the big man commented breezily, flicking up another peanut into the air.
Both men had wasted an hour earlier in the day attempting to flirt with the women but they had been continually rebuffed. Jamal had taken it especially hard, one of the women referring to him as 'old' a number of times as she knocked back his advances.
"Back in the day, they'd have been fuckin' throwin' themselves at us. Now they got all high n' fuckin' mighty. Not that they got any call for it, we're stuck here cos they aint cuttin' it performing." Jamal cleared his throat, looked around for somewhere to spit, shards of peanut clinging to the inside of his mouth. Not finding a spot convenient he just spat over his shoulder before turning back to Lance.
"Yeah, I guess." Lance answered, then he nodded towards where Krush and Cill stood. "The bosses don't look too happy either."
