Taking a step back from the story line now to how I started to talk to Davey, online of course. This took place in August 2009, when I was doing research about Carlus Seenus. This does do a lot of explaining though, so,
BETHONIE WARING: Hello, wow, hello. Erm, thank you… for, erm, logging on, Mr Hertz.
DAVEY HERTZ: Your welcome. Thank you for listening.
BW: I’m sorry for distracting you from whatever it was you was doing before. Just out of curiosity, what were you doing before?
DH: Oh, I’ve not been busy lately. It’s been quiet. And when it’s quiet, it’s boring. I’m quite glad of the distraction, actually.
BW: Glad to be some help. So, as you know, I’ve been doing a little bit of research on the Underground. I never knew you were in the Underground, until the other day.
DH: You’re not supposed to now. That’s the idea.
BW: I like researching. Anyway… I wanted to ask what it’s like to be in the Underground.
DH: The Underground is strange and I’m not sure how much you know, so I don’t know how much I can say.
BW: Erm, maybe I should rephrase the question. How, would you say, you feel about the Underground? Would you say that was a good enough question?
DH: I would say it’s a question I can answer… if I step very carefully. Stepping carefully is a huge part of the Underground. It often feels like you’re always being watched, which, I’m pretty sure, is what happens. Sometimes you can feel really stressed, because everything happens at once, or at least very close after each other. It can be exciting – your running on adrenaline and nothing else. At other times, it can be boring, like I say, and that’s the scary time.
DH: Because someone’s always doing something, and if you’re not doing something then there’s a chance that someone’s coming after you.
BW: That makes sense.
DH: Could I ask a question, quickly, please?
DH: What exactly are you researching?
BW: Well, the Underground, and Mr Seenus.
DH: And that’s how you found out about me?
BW: Well, yes.
DH: Oh, Carlus will be please.
BW: Well, I’m sorry. I… I just completely lost my train of thought. So, Davey, sorry. Got it! How did you get into the Underground?
DH: Getting into the Underground wasn’t a choice. At least, I didn’t know I was making the choice. I was living on the streets and a man… who I’m not going to name… a man took me in. He happened to be a member of the Underground. I had to get involved in his crime so I could stay with him.
BW: So is that how most people get into the Underground or… or what? Is there… I dunno…
DH: That’s one way in, I suppose. There are different ways. Of course, a lot of kids are brought into it from family members and friends of family members who are already involved in the Underground. And then there’s scouting.
DH: Well… there’s different types of scouting. There’s gang scouting. You get gangs all the time in cities. Sometimes an Underground member will stroll over and see a gang and they see a bunch of thugs. They offer them some money and they have a gang.
BW: And that’s scouting?
DH: That’s one kind of scouting. And then there’s the individual scouting, where, for example, a poor, starving, kid wonders into an Underground shop and, unknowing the consequences, nicks some food. They’re almost always caught, of course. If they’re good, they’re taken on.
BW: It’s a lot more complicated than you would think.
DH: Yeah. A lot of people don’t see how big the Underground is. I wouldn’t know, but I saw one side of things and Carlus saw the other.
BW: So you were scouted and Carlus was inherited.
DH: Through family, yeah.
BW: Carlus… Carlus Seenus, isn’t it?
DH: Because you don’t know, right? Yeah, Carlus is a Seenus. His dad was Innot Seenus.
BW: Innot was high in the Underground, then? And that’s how he found his way in.
DH: See, I don’t know why we’re even doing this. You know everything already.
BW: I know the facts. I don’t know the feelings. Was it weird, coming from two different backgrounds, between you and Carlus?
DH: Well, yes. It always was going to be weird between us. People were always pulling us, him, in different directions. I never really knew where I stood with Carlus. In knew I was below him. I was pretty stupid as a kid, but I knew this. Carlus never really made me feel like that, though. He never made anyone feel like that. Not until I was a teenager and he finally found his guts. He was ignorant to the social differences in the Underground. He didn’t care who I was. I was his charge, his friend, his carer, however you would have it. I was his and he looked after me
BW: And you, on the other hand…
DH: And me, on the other hand, exactly. I was ignorant to pretty much anything but social differences and political wrong doings. I had almost no awareness of anything right up until it happened.
BW: And is that how friendships usually work in the Underground?
DH: No. There aren’t usually many friendships in the Underground. If there are friendships they’re always split by the Underground. Look at Mr Seenus and Mr Hennison.
BW: What happened with…
DH: You don’t need to know, I’m sure. How much more do you need to know? I’m kind of busy.
BW: I thought… oh, never mind. Thank you for your time.
Dear readers, A lot’s going to change. A lot is going to change which no one can do anything about. If you know… If you know someone isn’t happy, and what they’re going to do is going to hurt everyone they care about… But it’s still the right thing to make things better… Never mind. It’s Davey. Well it’s not, due to the insanely complicated legal reasons that means I can’t claim Davey Hertz is real but, ah! My point! The point is: posting is changing. Before, I posted on Wednesday and Saturday (or at least I tried to as much as possible), but I’ll only be posting on Thursdays now. On the Wordpress I’ll be posting on Mondays and Saturdays, just if anyone was wondering. So much is going on, and it doesn’t help when, well, when Davey. Thanks for reading Bethonie Waring.
It was January ‘98 and I was putting the bins out and there was this weird looking kid at the Hertz door. He looked about sixteen and he had a small bag. Nothing else. He looked awful - scars all over his face, his fingers burnt and broken. I tried not to look at him but I couldn’t help it. He caught me looking and smiled. “Are you looking for John?” I asked. And he nodded. “They’re out.” I said, “But you can come in if it’s important.” So he left the Hertz’s without saying a word, and he walked with his eyes on the floor over to my house. “What’s your name, dear?” I asked, and he just stopped and smiled, again, and then I knew. I had no idea what he’d been through, but Davey had changed. He wasn’t half as lively as he had been before. Just fidgiting and his eyes stayed on the floor rather than darting around like they used to. But he still had his long hair. It was tatty, like someone had tried to cut it without him knowing, but it suited him. He’d been through a lot. So much more than I ever could have imagened. I still don’t know exactly what went on in England, but something had definatly changed the way he saw things. Everyone knows the rest of the story. The Feu. Its nothing … There’s nothing I know that everyone else doesn’t. I wouldn’t say that the boy sitting in my living room was a killer.
When it came on the news, that they finally found who it was - who did it - I remember thinking ‘No, no that can’t be him. It can’t be our Davey Hertz.’ But the more and more I thought about it, the more I could see how exactly it all linked together.
15/05/88 Davey Hertz, age 6
And there was uproar today when John Hertz, the ‘loud mouth’ of the great government, brought his six year old son into Speaker’s Square this afternoon. And we’re moving over to our correspondent live at Speaker’s Square. Richard, why the big deal?
Well, this has actually been the first public outing for the young Hertz boy in a long time, and what an outing it was. Mr Hertz came here to settle an ongoing disagreement with his german equal. When the german man arrived, young Davey ran from the square for reasons no one is actually sure of.
DAVEY: It wern’t my fault Daddy. It’s not my fault. It was your fault. You said you’d come after me.
Davey was found a good three or so hours later, in a state that isn’t really subtable to describe. The police have found no evidence of a reason for such a bruital attack but Mr Hertz has expressed his views quite clearly, as always, that the attempt on his son’s life was nothing to do with his meeting with Mr Von Gloon.
DAVEY: Please don’t see the report. Please don’t see the report. They’re lying. They think you’re the bad guy, but you’re not. You love me.
Of course, there is the ironic condition of the boy, isn’t there Richard?
DAVEY: No! It had nothing to do with that! Don’t speak about it! You’ll make him angry. Please, Daddy, don’t get angry. Please don’t get angry.
Yes, really it’s quite funny. John Hertz is known for his violent and loud nature. Everyone knows that if you want to hear a secret, you turn to John Hertz. But there is no chance of that happening with his son.
DAVEY: It’s i-i-irrelicant! You don’t need to say it! Why are you going to say it? Why do you want Daddy angry? Why are you all so meanie at him.
No, because his son was born without a voicebox, meaning he can’t make a sound.
DAVEY: It’s funny, you’ll say.
It’s funny really…
DAVEY: It’s not funny!
…the great mouth’s son…
DAVEY: Without a voice.
… Without a voice.
DAVEY: Shut up! Just shut up, ok! Why do you always have to be talking about it? If I could talk and you couldn’t, I wouldn’t be talking about it. I wouldn’t make your Daddy angry.
When asked to comment on his son’s condition, Mr Hertz said that ‘it was nothing to worry about’. Davey has now left hospital and is resting at home.
“Davey? Davey are you in here?”
DAVEY: Daddy it wasn’t my fault.
“Oh, here you are. Watching yourself, are you?”
DAVEY: Daddy, no! I already hurt. I want to speak, Daddy, I do! Please don’t try and make me. I already hurt!
“Come on, Davey. Let’s see if we can’t fix this.”
I DON’T NORMALLY POST ON THURSDAYS, SO DON’T GET USED TO IT!
Davey Hertz, age 7
He asked me if I was hungry and I nodded so he made me a sandwich and I ate it. He asked me if I was sleeping on the streets and I nodded so he got me a blanket and made me another sandwich and I ate it. He told me his name was George Howard and that I could stay with him if I wanted to and I nodded. He laughed and asked me what my name was. I looked around the little flat for something to write with. Mr George laughed. “What’s the matter, kid?” he asked, as I scrambled around looking for the paper now I had found a pen. Someone knocked on the door and Mr George called for them to come in. Another boy came in and asked Mr George for some money. He said he had some big scam planned and they could get at least a thousand from it. He said all he needed was five quid and that was it. Mr George yelled and said he couldn’t give him five quid and that, if the boy wanted five quid, he had to go and earn five quid. Then the boy spotted me. “Wow, Mr Howard,” the boy said, “We got ourselves another kid! And you can’t give us five quid?” I didn’t know what five quid was so I just froze and pretended I was a statue. “Get out, Josh!” Mr George said, “What I do and how I spend my money is nothing to do with you. I give you food, don’t I? I give you a bed, don’t I? If you want extras you can go out and earn them like everyone else. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.” “What’s his name?” the boy called Josh asked. “Get out, Josh!” Mr George yelled, pushing the boy called Josh out of the door and slamming it shut. He sighed, calming down, and sat beside me. He asked me if I wanted another sandwich and I shook my head and gave him the paper. “Davey, ‘ey,” he said with a smile, “What’s up? Can’t you speak?” I shook my head sadly. Mr George looked at me thoughtfully and I tried not to cry. I was tired and wet and hungry and Mr George was the first nice person I’d met in the entire Enkerland, and now he wouldn’t want me because I couldn’t speak. He’d send me away to be tired and wet and hungry in the rain again. But he didn’t. Mr George nodded and asked me if I had any other clothes. When I shook my head, he went and got me some new, dry clothes. He said they were too big and belonged to the boy named Josh, but they would do. I took of my jacket and my top and Mr George stopped me before I put the new top on. “What are these, Davey?” he asked, pointing to some of the bruises,”Where did you get these?” I shook my head, because Daddy hadn’t meant to do it so I pretended they weren’t there. Mr George was right. The top was really really big but it was dry and soft and warm. “Ok, here’s what I’m going to do, Davey,” Mr George said, “You can stay here a couple of nights, until I speak with my boss and he can decide what to do.” I nodded quickly, not questioning the grin on his face or the gleam in his eyes.
It was 1989 when it all changed. April ‘89. Lucy was hammering at the the door really early in the morning. I could hear her crying and I rushed downstairs to let her in. She was soaking wet from rain and crying so hard I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She clutched this little scrap of paper. I took her in and made her coffee but she didn’t drink it for crying. “He’s gone,” she kept saying, over and over, “He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s left me.” And at first I thought: ‘Yes! John’s left her! Lucy and Davey could be happy now and I’d never even have to get involved.’ But I never said that, because she loved John so much. I tried to calm her down but she didn’t. She just thrust this scrap of paper at me and collapsed. I’d left the door open, so I could hear the rain dripping down. That made it worse. Because I unfolded this paper and the first… and the first line read: “Dear Mummy,”. I was sick. I was physically sick. It was only a couple of days after her seventh birthday, and he’d just had enough. Davey’d gone. And I didn’t even help him. Dear Mummy, this note said, I try and I try and I try to speak, but my brain’s silly, and won’t work. And I know I make Daddy really, really angry, because they’re all meanie at him about it. So I’m going to go to Enkerland, tell, tell all them people there what meanie polly-ticking people they have, and that they’re all liars, just like Daddy said. And then he won’t be angry anymore. And then we can all be happy.
When Lucy found out she was pregnaunt she was overjoyed - they both were. John had this whole future set out for his son. I remember talking to Lucy over the garden fence one day and I was just joking with her and I said: “Let’s hope he doesn’t get his mouth from his father ‘ey.”, and it was just a joke because John, John was so loud. I shouldn’t have joked about it. When they came home from the hospital they had an entourage. I didn’t realise what had happened until I went around that evening to wet the baby’s head, and I asked if … if he was sleeping … because he was just so, so quiet. John burst. He was absolutly furious. Lucy was in tears and I looked over at this baby, his georgous full head of golden blonde hair and a huge grin. Well, John wasn’t too happy about his son - this one who was someday going to get all his power and glory and money - and this son, he just … couldn’t … speak.
When it came on the news - when they finally said who it was - who did it - I remember thinking ‘No. No that can’t be him. It can’t be our Davey Hertz.’ … but the more and more I thought about it, the more and more I could see how it all linked together. I lived nextdoor to the Hertzs for years. They seemed like a nice couple to me. Lucy loved John. She absolutly adored that man more than anything else in the world. You could see it in her eyes when they were together. John, now, he had two loves. He loved Lucy, yeah, but I always got the feeling his true love - his true love - was money. But there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for that girl. Within reason. The Hertz household was always very loud. John was very very loud. He always always shouting. Not at anyone. Not at Lucy ever. They argued but so does everyone. Most of the time he wasn’t shouting at Lucy, just shouting - shouting shouting shouting. He just wanted everyone to know what he was thinking. Back then there was a camera and a reporter outside the house at least once every month. John was a politican see. He was the typical villian of the system and everyone loved to hate him. But he always said … Something. He always made the… He always made them come after him. John loved the publicity. It was something he’d come to hate.
Davey started school when he was five. John hadn’t wanted him to start until he was six, but eventually they revieved a letter from St Mary’s - St Mary’s school for the physically disadvantaged. John hadn’t been too pleased with Davey going to school with a bunch of ‘disadvantaged’ but there was no denying he needed it. And things started to look up from there. John still had his bad days, and when they were bad, they were really bad. But he had a lot of good days too. They’d come out into the garden, all three of them. John and Davey started playing football and Davey wasn’t bad at it ether. And me and Lucy would talk over the fence, again, just like we did before. I asked once how he was getting on at school and John and Davey were playing so I didn’t think they’d heard me. Lucy said he was having a little trouble making friends, but that was understandable. John stopped what he was doing and came over, shouting as usual: “No one wants to be friends with that thing! Why would they want to be friends with that thing? He’s a freak! Why would anybody want him?” And Davey just stood there, with his muddy little football, and smiled. Even though John had calmed down a little, the bruises were getting worse. It didn’t take a genius to work out he was getting bullied. John was good at making enemies and a lot of the state school boys thought that they could stop him, through Davey. He came home in all sorts of states, but Lucy never let John see. She didn’t dare. Davey was getting it from all sides now. The school should have picked up on it … But they never and life went on.