Purple Method

by Victoria Milne

  The crowd was growing as the band delivered rapid-fire drumming, monstrous guitar riffs, and melodic, throat-grating screams and howls interspersed with tender and emotional choruses. The small music area looked to be filled to capacity, and the mosh pit was in full force when Purple Method’s half-hour slot was up. Everyone was cheering, and Rick suddenly remembered the bucket he was in charge of.

  “Pete, had we better get to the exits?” he shouted.

  “Oh yeah, I nearly forgot.” Pete grabbed his bucket and pointed it toward their left. “You take that one, and I’ll take the other side.”

  Dietmar followed him as Max bounced to the front of the stage. The cheering was deafening.

  “Thank you so much,” Max yelled over the microphone. “You’ve been amazing to play for. We hope you’ll come see us again real soon. We’re collecting for Elfinbrook’s air ambulance charity, so if you liked what you heard, then please show your support. Oh, and we’re selling a load of T-shirts over at our hog booth if you want to come say hi.”

  Rick caught Max’s eye, and he grinned at him. Max waved one last time, threw a handful of Kyle’s plectrums into the crowd, which Kyle didn’t look too impressed about, and they all left the stage.

  The bucket was heavy by the time the crowd had cleared, and Rick rested it against his hip.

  “Should we catch them now while they are packing up? I’d like to meet them,” Dietmar said.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what needs to happen to all this, so I should get it to Tony.” He shook the bucket.

  Purple Method was in a huddle behind the stage, and Tony looked a bit emotional as he said, “This is the start of something very special.”

  Dietmar coughed.

  “Hey, how much did we raise?” Tony asked Rick.

  “I dunno. You’ll have to count it.” He thrust the bucket at him.

  “Oh wow, there’s loads,” Max said, peering at it. “Guess we must’ve done all right, then. We’d better get back to the booth and give Sian a hand selling the merch.”

  “You may as well go while we pack up,” Tony said. “Not like you ever help us anyway.”

  Max scowled. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Guys, this is Dietmar,” Rick said before their bickering could get out of hand. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh yeah,” Max said. “The guy from the bike show. I guess we weren’t too heavy for you after all?”

  “Max, will you shut up a minute.” Rick glared at him, and Max looked shocked. He’d make it up to him later, but this was too important.

  “Actually, I know a thing or two about heavy metal,” Dietmar said. “I own a chain of clubs over in England, and several of those are alternative venues.”

  “Fuck,” Max said and smiled sheepishly at Rick. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. You didn’t say anything—”

  “You have bands play at your venues?” Tony asked.

  “Yes. It’s mostly live music, and then we have a few club nights too. I really liked what you did out there. You have a very interesting sound.” Dietmar shook each of their hands. “I’d better get back to Jakob. He’ll be needing a hand with his bike. It was nice to meet you all.”

  Dietmar walked away, and Rick hurried after him. “What was that?”

  “You were right. They’re excellent, but their sound is so unique I’m not sure who I could get them to open for, sorry,” Dietmar said and patted Rick on the shoulder. “I should get back to Jakob.”

  “Dietmar, please.”

  Dietmar shrugged his apology and disappeared into the crowd. Rick’s shoulders slumped, and he wandered back over to Max and the others.

  “That was weird,” Tony said as he hauled one of his drums off the stage.

  “Yeah,” Rick said and rubbed his hand across his face. He’d been convinced Dietmar was going to make them an offer. “Look, I’m going to get something to eat. I’ll meet you back at the booth.” He needed some time to figure out a way to convince Dietmar that not inviting Purple Method over to London would be the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

  SIAN HAD sold all the merchandise and was carefully weighing some dried spices into a large tub when Rick got back to the booth. The others had returned after having dropped off the band equipment back at the house.

  “How’s it going?” Max asked her as Rick joined them by Lorette.

  “The marinade is all injected. You’ve just got the rub to put on her.”

  “Aren’t you helping?” Rick asked Sian.

  Sian removed the tub from the scales and handed it to Max. “I’ve done all the work so far. It’s Max’s turn. Besides, it’s nearly three now. I need to go pick up the blind boxes.”

  “What’s a blind box?” Rick asked, taking the beer Pete handed him.

  “It’s what we have to present our meat in once we’re done,” Max said. “It’s so they can’t tell whose is whose. Makes the judging fairer.”

  “Oh. I had no idea it was all taken so seriously.”

  Sian snorted a laugh. “This is nothing. The bigger competitions are governed by societies that have very strict rules, and they even have professional teams competing.”

  “One day.” Max tasted the rub.

  “What’s in it?”

  “It’s our secret recipe,” Sian said. “Only Max and I know exactly what’s in it.”

  “Oh, come on. Tell me?” Rick said. Kyle and Pete were sitting in yard chairs by the ambulance while Tony fiddled about with their sound system. There was no one close by. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Uh-uh.” Max shook his head. “We don’t crack that easy. What if you’re working for the opposition?” He nodded toward Pearls Before Swine.

  Rick grabbed a wood chip from the bag lying next to the smoker and flicked it toward Max, hitting him gently on the forehead. “Hey!” Max vigorously shook his head. “Quit messin’ around. This is serious.”

  Sian laughed. “I’m gonna get those blind boxes and take a break. Don’t forget to cool Lorette once you’re done with the rub.”

  Max waited until she was out of sight and then produced a bottle of bright green liquid. He emptied it into the marinade that was left over.

  “What was that?”

  “You didn’t see anything.”

  “What’s it worth?” Rick folded his arms. “Sian doesn’t know the secret recipe either, does she?”

  “This whole competition was my idea. She would never have gone with this, and I wanna win this year.”

  “What is it?”

  Max sighed. “It’s something to make the sauce pack more punch. The judges only take a couple of mouthfuls. If the marinade isn’t strong enough, then we won’t stand a chance against everyone else.”

  “Surely Sian would understand that.”

  “I already talked to her about it. She wouldn’t do it. She preferred the recipe she thinks we’re using. Trust me, it’s for the best.”

  Rick held up his hands. “I’m not saying a word. This is all on you. So how come if you have these blind boxes, you’re cooking Lorette whole? Wouldn’t it be easier to smoke each bit separately?”

  “That’s the point.” Max tipped the dry mixture onto Lorette and began to massage the rub into her skin. “Everything has to be ready at the same time. It’s difficult to get right because all the cuts are different thicknesses. All the hams, shoulders, and loins need to be cooked perfectly for us to have a chance at being placed.” He patted the smoker with his elbow, as his hands were covered in the rub. “This baby will make it easier. It’s a reverse-flow offset smoker with auto gas and auto water. If we can’t win with this, we may as well give up now and go home.”

  Tony inspected Lorette from a distance. “How much longer are you gonna be doing that pig?”

  “A while, why?”

  “We’re heading back to the stage, see what other bands they have playing. You coming?”

  “Na. Got too much to do here. I’ve got the decoration for the boxes to do yet, and besides, someone’s got to gu
ard Lorette.”

  “Rick, coming? Can’t imagine this is much fun for you, hanging about here.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’ve got to head back over to see how my dad’s getting on with his Harley.” Tony seemed satisfied with his answer, thank God. Max’s brother really was a pain in his ass, and not the good kind.

  “Tell Sian where we are when she comes back?” Kyle said and Max nodded, and finally they were on their own.

  “What time do you have to go see your dad?”

  “I don’t.”

  Max stopped massaging the pig. “But you said—”

  “Did you want your brother to think we were hanging out again, on our own?”

  “I guess not.” Max frowned and continued massaging more slowly. “Why, has he said something?”

  “You know how he is. Don’t want him to cause problems when I’ve finally got you to myself.” Rick winked at him, and he could have sworn Max’s cheeks colored.

  “You know nothing’s gonna happen here, right?”

  “I know.” Rick smiled and reached across to squeeze Max’s forearm. He was trying to be understanding but was finding it almost impossible to not touch him. “When do you start cooking her, anyway?”

  “We’ll fire up the smoker at about eleven, and then she’ll go in from about one.”

  Rick frowned. “One… tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Tonight.” Max laughed. “Judging is at twelve thirty tomorrow, and it’s gonna take about ten hours to smoke her. Then we’ve gotta get her looking her best.”

  “In the blind boxes?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s hours away, though, so why did you say to Tony that you needed to get them ready now?”

  Max concentrated hard on Lorette. “Helps intensify the flavor the earlier we get the marinade on. Besides, you’re not the only one who’s finding my brother a giant pain in the ass lately.” He glanced up at Rick and back to the pig. “No way was he gonna hang out here all afternoon. Can you give me a hand with her?” Max gave Lorette one last check. “I need to get her in the cooler.”

  “You have a cooler?” Rick looked around their empty booth. “Where?”

  “Ice packs. In the ambulance. Like before.”

  After Rick had helped Max to wrap Lorette up, they placed her in the paddling pool in the back of the ambulance to keep her nice and cool until the middle of the night, and then they lay on the grass, sipping beers in the late afternoon sun. Sian had delivered their blind boxes and had gone to find the others in the music section.

  “That was weird with your buddy Dietmar,” Max said, taking a drag from his cigarette.

  “I guess.” Rick stretched out on his back and adjusted his sunglasses. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having with Max right now. He still hadn’t thought of a way to convince Dietmar to change his mind.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what he did? Is that why you were so worried about how I behaved around him?”

  “He’s just an old friend of my dad’s.”

  Max punched Rick’s arm, and Rick turned his head to look at him. He was sitting cross-legged and looked very thoughtful. “Yeah, but he might’ve wanted us to play at his clubs. That would’ve been awesome, you and me in London, Purple Method showing England how great we are. Then again, maybe they’re not ready for our kinda sound. I guess I was right about us being too heavy for your friend.”

  “Wait… what did you say?” Rick pushed himself up onto his elbows.

  “What? That it would be awesome to play in England? I’ve never been there. Have you?”

  “Yeah, a few times,” Rick said slowly. “When we lived in Germany.”

  “You lived in Germany? When was that?”

  “Until I was five,” Rick said distractedly.

  “You never said.” Max looked a little hurt.

  “You never asked.” Rick smiled at him and leaped to his feet. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I won’t be long,” Rick called back over his shoulder to a very confused-looking Max.

  Breaking into a run as soon as he was through the worst of the crowds, Rick headed straight for his dad, hoping to find Dietmar there too. He was in luck. Slowing to catch his breath, Rick waved at them as he approached.

  “How’s it going?” he asked his dad.

  “Great. Loads of people have taken her picture.” Jakob patted the gleaming Harley and smiled.

  “That’s good. Dietmar, have you got a minute?”

  “Sure, I’m not going anywhere.” Dietmar leaned back in his chair. “This about your friends?”

  “Um, yeah. I had a thought.”

  “What’s that? By the way, I spoke to Neil about your MMA, and he’s very interested in seeing what you can do.”

  “He is?” Rick’s stomach somersaulted. “What did he say?”

  “To send him a recording of one of your classes, and he’ll think about it.”

  “That’s brilliant, Rick,” his dad said.

  Rick almost bounced with excitement. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  Dietmar sighed. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “How about I visit with Neil in London instead?”

  “Okay,” Dietmar said slowly.

  “When Purple Method plays at your clubs.” Dietmar opened his mouth, and Rick hurried to continue. “It’s only a matter of time before Purple Method makes it big. Surely you can see that? Their music is as authentic as it gets. And they’re unique. You said it yourself. Aren’t they worth the risk? Once they’ve opened for a couple of generic metal bands, you could have them headlining, and when they make it big, you’ll be the one that discovered them. It would be great publicity for your clubs.”

  Dietmar laughed, but it looked long-suffering. “You make a convincing argument, I have to say.” He studied Rick for a moment with a knowing smile. “Fine. They’re booked in four weeks on Friday, August 31, at the Scarab Lounge, and I’ll see where else I can fit them in. I’ll talk to Neil for you and get him to set something up at his gym.”

  Rick leaned down and hugged Dietmar. “Thank you. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

  Dietmar growled. “I’d better not.”

  WHEN RICK got back to the Porkaholic Method booth, Max was busy frying bacon on a portable stove.

  “Mm, that smells good,” Rick said, giving him a quick squeeze and leaning down to sniff the bacon.

  Max frowned. “Where did you get to? What happened to us spending some time together?”

  Rick tried to snatch a piece of bacon from the pan, but it burned his fingers and he let it go.

  “Serves you right,” Max said.

  “I’ve got good news. Want me to tell you now or wait until Tony and Kyle get back?”

  “What have you gone and done?” Max lifted the bacon from the pan with the tongs and placed them on a plate before looking up at Rick.

  “You don’t want to wait?”

  Max narrowed his eyes. “Tell me.”

  “We’re going to London in four weeks, and you’re playing at Dietmar’s club, the Scarab Lounge.”

  Max stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” Rick nodded. “And you’re coming too?”

  “What do you think? Shall we go tell the others?”

  “No.” Max grinned. “Why should Tony always get to be in charge of the band? I know the perfect time to tell them. Will you help me book the airplane tickets? I guess we should do that right away.” He bounced on his toes. “Oh my God, we’re playing in London. I can’t believe it.” Max stared at Rick. “And you arranged all this for us? Thank you, Rick. It means a lot.”

  “You can thank me later.” Rick winked at him and stole a piece of bacon from the plate. “Do you think anyone would notice if we disappeared into the back of the ambulance for a while?”

  Max snorted a laugh. “We can if you want, but Lorette’s still chilling in there. I don’t know about you, bu
t right now I could do without an audience.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Max

  SECOND PLACE. Second place! Max still couldn’t believe it. The judges had said it had been a close call, but losing to Pearls Before Swine was soul destroying. He was still seething three days later. Scrambling out of bed, Max grabbed the silver trophy from his desk and shoved it in the back of his closet, hiding it away in the dark. At least now he wouldn’t be reminded of his failure every time he woke. Maybe that would help him forget about it… until next year.

  His door opened and Tony walked in dressed in his Elfinbrook hockey team shirt. “Hey, you’re up.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, great. We’re just heading off now.”

  Tony, Kyle, and Sian had tickets to watch Elfinbrook take on the Leatherton hockey team. It was their local derby, and there was a huge rivalry between the two teams.

  “Have a great time. I guess I’ll see you later.” Max crouched down by his stacks of vinyl to pick out something to listen to.

  “Yeah. About that. Sian surprised us and booked a motel room.”

  “You won’t be back tonight?” Max tried to hide his excitement. Would he really have the place to himself? He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened—if ever. As soon as they left, he’d be calling Rick to come over. “Well, that’s great. Saves someone having to drive.”

  “Yeah. Be good to have a few beers after the match.” Tony sat down on Max’s bed. “You going to be okay on your own? Want me to ask Pete to come over and keep you company?”

  “Na. I’ll be okay.”

  “Will you go to the Torrens Bar, do you think?”

  “Probably.”

  “You know, I’m sure I could still get you a ticket if you want. Or I could stay. Some of the guys—”

  “Tony, I’ll be fine here. Go. Have a good time. You know hockey’s not my thing.”

  Tony went to stand, then sat back down again and opened his mouth, but Max beat him to it. “Seriously. I’ll be okay. It’s not like I’ll burn the house down or anything.”