CHAPTER 9

Torture is the most convenient form of coercion in times of no war. If one wishes to gain compliance from one's enemies, torture has always been efficient. Mankind has known this for centuries and has used it to great advantage.

Torture, by definition, is not a "hit and run" technique. It should be extended over a period of time; should stab at the opponent's emotions and disrupt the thought processes. It is a well-known fact that the anticipation of pain is far more agonizing than the actual inducement of it. One must weaken the enemy, use his weaknesses to slowly tear him down, then move in for the final attack.

"The most effective victory over one's enemies is through the slowest of deaths."

It was a phrase that Blackwell had coined himself. One that he was very proud of.

It was hard to believe. Even the band had a hard time accepting reality. Just one year ago, KISS had been a struggling young band -- scraping the bottom of the barrel both financially and emotionally. Now, they were sitting on top of a world filled with gold and platinum albums, sold-out concerts and more money and recognition than most musicians ever dream of having.

As to how much credit for their good fortune they could give to the Talismans, it was hard to say. After the experience of that one night in Detroit, the band members had not been able to recreate their powers. Nothing they did, nothing they said, reactivated their abilities as what they had that night.

For Paul, that was perfectly fine by him. He was less than thrilled with the idea originally, and anything that would delay another discussion about it was more than welcomed. Besides, the band was doing well and there were more serious things to worry about than superpowers. Gene, on the other hand, found it perplexing. He knew what he had done that night and was sure he could recreate it. With each new concert after that, Gene tried with no success to at least achieve the fire-spitting stunt he had pulled off in Detroit. It never happened again.

Peter understood how Gene felt. He too was curious as to why the powers never returned. As for Ace, he just kept to himself about it and never mentioned a word.

So, their thinking of the Talismans was minimal as their success grew. For a short time, their sudden success was numbing to them all, but they had quickly realized that it was better to keep working and enjoy it while lasted.

Because with good, there must be bed. And bad always makes the headlines.

1976: Equipment trucks of the rock band KISS were fired on by unknown assailants earlier today. No one was injured, and damage to the trucks was minimal. No suspects have been taken into custody . . . .

. . . Peter Criss, drummer for the rock and roll band KISS, was in good condition today after an explosion at last night's concert which threw the drummer from his drum-riser. Criss fell from a height of twenty feet when an M-80 explosive was thrown onto the stage from the audience. Miraculously, he was not seriously injured, but suffered a temporary loss of hearing. There are at press time, no suspects . . . .

. . .Current rumors about that the outrageous musical (?) group KISS are a team of satanic priests in disguise. Fundamentalist minister, Reverend Herbert Parker, is quoted as saying that the band's name is an acronym for "Knights In Satan's Service." According to the reverend, "This band is working for the devil. Their devil-worshiping lyrics and drug-crazed antics only reinforce my belief that this music is leading our children down the road to Hell. Every decent citizen should realize this and take part in stopping this threat to our society."

This reporter will refrain from comment.

"Can you believe this?" Paul asked, slamming the newspaper down onto the table in the small booth. He and Gene were there for a late-night studio rehearsal before the start of the new tour.

"Yes, I can," said Gene, sipping lukewarm coffee from a Styrofoam cup. I've seen it before. It's the same thing that's happened to bands before us, and it'll happen with bands in the future. People have to blame something for causing the world's problems. Rock and Roll is an easy target."

"Man, it just gets on my nerves. One more thing to hurt our reputation." Paul pulled a chair over from the mixing board and sat down facing Gene. "I mean, here we are, finally getting somewhere with this band, and now people seem to be throwing obstacles left and right to trip us up."

"Well, you know what they say . . . 'Rock n' roll has got to go!'" Gene snatched a copy of the newest Alice Cooper album -- which had been left there by a technician -- from its sleeve and pretended to break it over his knee.

Paul chuckled. "Yeah, right. It's no big deal really. It's just a little unnerving."

"It's typical, really. People have to read explanations into things they don't understand." Gene made a face and pushed the coffee across the table. "What some?"

"No, thanks." Paul sneered at the cloudy gray liquid and moved it back toward Gene, who tossed it in a nearby trash can. He looked at his watch.

"When are Ace and Peter coming back? I'd like to get some more done before we stop for the night."

"Anytime now," Paul answered. "Wait . . . I think I hear someone now."

Ace walked in, his youthful features uncharacteristically somber. He saw the other two and stopped in the doorway, clearing his throat self-consciously.

"Um . . . I think you'd better close up for the night. We have to go to the hospital."

Paul and Gene looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Paul figured it was another of Ace's jokes and decided to play along.

"Okay, Ace, we give up. We do we have to go to the hospital?"

Ace remained strangely quiet. He looked into Paul's eyes with real concern.

"Peter's been in a car wreck . . . ."

1977: Peter Criss, drummer for KISS, suffered minor injuries following a one-car collision late last night. There is not official word concerning the circumstances surrounding the accident. Criss was a passenger in the vehicle. The driver was also injured . . . .

. . . Ace Frehley of KISS was nearly electrocuted during a performance in Florida last night. Official sources say that Frehley was ascending a flight of stairs used on the band's current stage set when he touched the metal railing for support and completed an electrical circuit, sending a high number of volts through his body. Frehley was carried from the stage, unconscious by a member of the band's security team, but recovered and returned to finish the show.

The four member of KISS sat around a table in a New York restaurant. It was a popular place with good food, excellent service, and reasonable prices. It also had a very casual atmosphere, which made it even more appealing to the city's music crowd.

Each man had a sizable meal in front of him, but Gene, Peter and Paul had barely eaten anything. Ace, though, had finished most of his own dinner and was now sneaking bites from the others' plates if and when they turned away.

Gene was absorbed in his contemplation of a tall, cool glass of water with beads of condensation running down and dripping onto the plate which held his cheesecake. Paul was picking through his broiled fish, mainly to see if it was still warm, but partly to make sure Ace had not taken any. As bored as the others, Peter was staring at the ceiling, his chair tipped onto its two back legs. Suddenly, he broke the silence by dropping his chair to the floor with a resounding crack.

"I don't know . . ." he said. "What do you want to do?"

Gene and Paul laughed slightly and glanced at Peter. The three of them then turned their attention to Ace, who stared back at them innocently -- his cheeks stuffed with food.

"Mmmph Grrplmph!"

"Well," Paul said offhandedly, "we could get a stomach pump for Ace here . . ."

The three of them laughed out loud. Ace swallowed painfully and again attempted to reply. The only sounds he could manage were muffled grunts, which caused his companions' laughter to increase. This scene attracted the attention of other customers, and the band quieted down while Ace tried to gulp down the last of the food. Peter resumed his original conversation as Ace grabbed Gene's water.

"Really, though. What do you think we should do next? We've already conquered America -- tomorrow the world." He chuckled. "No, we've done that too. We've got our own comic book out . . . what's left?"

"First rock group in orbit," Ace mumbled as he washed down the last bit of food.

Paul broke in, presenting his case with the air of a corporate president addressing the board. "I think Peter's got a point. Besides the movie coming up in May, what are we going to be doing? There isn't much we haven't tried, and we've already decided no album 'til after the filming's done. Any suggestions?"

"Well," Gene said quietly, "I've been saving some material for a solo album."

Peter was horrified. "What? You don't mean split up the band?"

"No, of course not. But maybe we each need to do our own thing for a change. You know, instead of a group album, four separate records -- one from each of us."

"Yeah!" Ace exclaimed.

Paul was still considering the idea. "I like it, but I don't know . . . . You think management will got for it?"

Gene nodded. "As a matter of fact, I've discussed it with Bill already. He thinks we're in a position now where we could get away with something like this. The fans would love it! Four albums of new material instead of one!"

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Do some stuff on our own. Expand our horizons for the good of the band."

"Exactly."

"This is great!" Ace said. "I've always wanted to see how I'd do on my own."

Paul let the others' enthusiasm erase his initial caution. "Okay, okay. You've convinced me. When do we start?"

Everyone was silent. The idea sounded good enough, but they all knew the risks of trying something this radical. Ace spoke up first.

"Well, no time like the present. Why don't we just set up a time for the albums to be done, then go our own ways?"

"Wait a sec."

"What's the matter, Peter?"

"That makes sense. When have you ever made sense?"

After the laughter had died down, they agreed on a date for the completion of the solo albums. All of them felt it would be the perfect way to go from their position. Perhaps the release of the four albums could coincide with the movie's completion to add to the publicity.

"Okay. Now that that's settled, we've got an even bigger decision to make," Gene said worriedly.

"What?" The others asked in unison. None of them could imagine what he meant.

"Who's paying for dinner?"

The others smiled. Paul pointed out the obvious choice.

"Give it to Ace. He ate the most."

Nothing had changed at the offices of Mr. Blackwell. Parker was still seated outside, trying to control the massive flow of would-be superstars infiltrating the lobby; the curtains were still drawn; and Blackwell would only appear on rare occasions. The only difference now was that the office actually seemed darker than it had before.

As it happened, it was one of the few days that Blackwell was in his office, this time to receive a report from Parker. At the moment, Parker was giving Blackwell an oral report concerning the development of a certain popular rock and roll band. It was quite evident from Parker's voice that he hated giving the report, especially since the band was not under Blackwell's management. As it was, he did not understand his employer's interest; yet, he never mentioned it.

Blackwell finally stopped his assistant's droning with the wave of a hand.

"The overall view, Parker?"

Parker cleared his throat. "Well, not much has happened since last month. Um . . . each of the members has started work on their solo albums, and Criss was involved with another auto accident."

"Really?" Blackwell asked innocently. "My, how unfortunate. A man in his position should take better care of himself."

Parker wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and continued.

"Uh . . . the movie's filming is in progress and on schedule. I think that's all that's happening right now."

He waited for Blackwell to acknowledge his report and dismiss him. After several minutes, the silhouette from behind the desk raised its head and spoke.

"Very well. You may go on with your work."

Parker trotted over to the door, eager to escape the darkness. As he reached for the doorknob, he turned back to the black figure.

"I almost forgot. Mr. Deveraux called. He said to tell you that everything is ready on the set."

"Excellent."

Blackwell rose form his seat and closed the drapes, blocking out the little stream of brightness. Taking a deep breath, Parker rushed out into the lobby.

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