It’s something that happened during the 1970 tour while they were in Germany.
… That evening, the Stones, our main group, and me totaling about fifteen people, decided to go to dinner together. We found a restaurant and all sat down at a long, long table, some sitting on the leather couch that ran along one side and myself and others in chairs facing them. Mick was in front of me, two seats down, on the couch. We all ordered and waited and waited and waited.
An hour went by and still no food. We were hungry and everyone was starting to get irritable and rowdy. About an hour and a half in, our appetizers were brought to the table, a lot of which were shrimp cocktails. The food didn’t taste good and the next thing I knew a handful of shrimp cocktail was coming at my face via Mick. I think a little of it had to do with him being pissed that I had Bill’s approval to travel with Astrid’s sister, not to mention my little fling with his assistant. But he didn’t need an excuse as we were all upset with the food and figured its best use was as ammunition for a food fight at this supposed classy Frankfurt restaurant that had kept us waiting hours.
After a short skirmish, we settled down again and waited on our entrees. After another hour, we stood up. I refused to pay for the shitty service and food and we stormed out of the place. Everyone was left to their own devices and I returned to the hotel and went to sleep.
The next day, as I was packing to leave, there was a knock on my door. I opened it and two men stormed into my room. I had no idea who they were and refused to pay any attention to them, other than to pick up the house phone and call for security. I yelled at them to get out of my room or I would have them thrown out. One kept saying he was an officer of the court, but I didn’t care. They walked out and I got back to packing.
Fifteen minutes later, there was another knock at my door and I figured it to be a very late security guy. Instead though, the two guys barged into my room again. They smirked and in broken English said that there was no security and they were there to discuss the restaurant bill. I told them that I would make sure they were thrown out and called down again for hotel security threatening them with “my guys” coming to the rescue if necessary. Security finally came to my room and escorted the two guys away.
Next my room phone rang and it was the hotel manager.
“Mr. Schneider, one of the men was a lawyer for the restaurant and the other was the judge from the court. They knew you were leaving and the judge came to expedite matters.”
Oh, shit! I had thrown a judge out. The next threat from them was an educated one.
“They said to tell you that if you don’t pay, they will take the collateral necessary to cover the bill. The collateral will come from Keith Richards’ room, so they will have to go through his belongings.”
That was obviously a veiled threat of other things to come as Keith’s reputation had obviously preceded him to the Frankfurt court.
“Sorry,” I finally blurted out “My mistake. The restaurant screwed us and we never ate, but since we have to leave, how much?”
And there went another $2,200.
