Mark imagines Lennon ignoring him. He’ll make the man finally see. Mark swiftly removes the handgun, watches his reflection drop into a combat stance.

“Mr. Lennon.”

This time, Lennon pays attention. He turns, sees the gun pointed at him, but it’s too late.

Inside the room, Mark pulls the trigger. It clicks softly, because there’s no ammo, but in his mind, he hears the gunshot go off. He sees Lennon collapse against the pavement. Lennon looks like he’s about to say something—“I’m sorry,” maybe, or “Please forgive me for my sins”—and Mark squeezes the trigger again.

And again.

Again.

All five shots.

It’s over. Lennon is dead.

*  *  *

Mark loads the hollow-points given to him in Atlanta by his cop friend, Dana. There’s nothing more power-packed than these babies, Dana had told him. Dana thinks Mark needs the ammo for protection on the dangerous streets of New York.

Dana had taken him into the woods for target practice and gave him some valuable pointers.

Mark’s aim has improved considerably.

Lennon doesn’t stand a chance.

Mark puts on his brimless Russian hat with its fake fur. He slips the .38 into his pocket and holds it.

The gun feels warm in his hands.

Mark smiles. Happy.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

There’s something happening here.

—“For What It’s Worth”

On May 5, 1960, John Lennon heads to Slater Street’s Jacaranda Club, which has a jukebox and an Italian espresso machine. Coffee bars like this are popular teenage hangouts, and at night, downstairs in the former coal cellar, the Jacaranda has a members-only club for up-and-coming bands.

Now John finds Allan Williams standing behind the Jacaranda’s counter. Williams, a tiny man with a black bushy beard, has suddenly become a key player in the Liverpool music scene.

“Allan,” John says, “why don’t you do something for us?”

Williams adjusts the black top hat he wears all the time, even in the summer.

“How do you mean ‘us’? Who’s us?”

“My group,” John says. “The Beatles.”

John’s inspiration comes from the Crickets, Buddy Holly’s band, as well as his love for wordplay. Changing the second e to an a gives “Beatles” a double meaning—both crawling things and rhythmic music.

John’s heard that there’s an audition with Billy Fury and tells Williams that he wants to be part of it.

Williams nods. “Sure. What’s your group’s lineup?”

John tells him about Paul and George and their new member, Stuart Sutcliffe, a fellow student from art college. Williams knows Stu as the student who painted the murals in the basement of the Jacaranda—but when Stu sells an abstract painting at Walker Art Gallery, John persuades him to use the windfall to purchase a Hofner 333 four-string bass. Stu doesn’t know how to play it yet, but John’s certain he’ll learn.