by P G Loiselle
“So, what now?” I asked in a robotic tone.
“What now? Hey, Rodney, you hear that? Lucky Luke Skywalker wants to know what now.”
“Yeah, what now, huh? What now?” he said but refrained from laughing.
“I guess we let you go,” said Babyface. “Our mission’s accomplished, and it seems to me your night’s a bust, so to say. But don’t go too far.” He directed his index and middle fingers up towards his own eyes and then pointed them at us. “We’re watching you. All of you, all the time. And it’ll stay that way until we get what we want. And we know that you know where those two things are that we’re looking for. We’re not stupid.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re not stupid,” echoed Rodney and smacked himself upside the head.
Babyface snapped his fingers; the foursome split up into the two Cadillacs but made no gesture to leave. I needed to talk with the band in a way that those gangsters couldn’t hear, so I called a huddle. We all put our heads close together in five-star formation to discuss the next play. “Their little game isn’t over yet. I have an odd feeling they really think they ruined our plans for the Rockin’ Steady. We still have to pick up our guitars, and it’s getting late. You three need to get there without them knowing where you’re going. If they follow, you got to lose them somehow.”
“How do we do that, Mr. Band Leader?” Piano Mike said, sounding pissed off at me.
“How should I know? But you’re falling into their trap already. They’re trying to separate us, get us to fight against each other, tear us apart, divide and conquer and all that jazz. If they succeed, we don’t have a chance. And don’t forget, this isn’t about me. We’re doing it for Amy.” I let that sink in. I felt that they saw me as the catalyst of all this, but in fact, it was Amy.
“You’re right, Luke,” Mike said, seeming to regret his comments. “I’m no good at this kind of stuff. I didn’t even like playing cops and robbers as a kid.”
“No biggie, P.M.,” I said ruffling the hair on the back of his head.
“I’m going with you and Stevie,” Dale said, zombie-like. “You might need reinforcements since the big guns will most likely be trailing you.”
“Glad to have you with us for the ride,” I said. “Just keep your cool.”
Stevie remained quiet during the whole affair. I only got that one scant word out of him, while he was sorting the remains of our shattered belongings.
We jumped into two cars and drove our separate ways. Sure enough, we were followed by Babyface and Rodney, while the other two thugs trailed Mike and Tommy. True to their threats, they weren’t going to let up. We decided to skip my place and Stevie would take two of his guitars instead. Along the way, Dale spotted a Dunkin Donuts and was adamant we stop even though we were racing against a fast clock. I did it with minimum complaints, and we waited outside while he grabbed three ice coffees. Babyface and Rodney stayed at the entrance in the lot across the street. Dale came out with a cardboard tray containing the three large ice coffees as promised and two glass sugar dispensers hidden under his shirt.
“Anyone need sugar?” he asked as he handed us our coffees. Stevie and I were all set, but I could tell he was up to something.
I pulled back out onto the road, passing by the Cumberland Police Station, and our adversaries resumed clinging to our tailwind. They said they’d let us go, which was bullshit and must have intended to keep tabs on us for the long haul. I continued on High Street and swung right onto Blackstone. Stevie’s pad was coming up fast and there was no sign of them letting up. About a hundred yards before we got to the house, Dale spoke.
“Here’s what you got to do. Luke, make sure you park on the street, backed up to another car: not too far away so that those hoods can’t park behind us, not too close so that we have enough wiggle room to back up in case we need to run for it. Stevie, you go in and get the guitars; when you come out, Luke’ll meet you at the front door and take one of the cases. Now Luke, you’re going to walk over to the driver’s side of their car and Stevie, you the passenger side. Stand the cases up in your hands in a way that blocks the view of the back. Then it’s time for another discussion with those maggots. It doesn’t have to be long. I need about twenty seconds. When I give you the signal, a little beep or something, come back to the car and be prepared for a fast getaway.”
“What tricks do you have up your sleeve?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Tell you later. It’s probably better you don’t know,” Dale said. “Let’s first do what I said and see what happens.”
I parked as instructed, and in went Stevie while I waited in the wings. When he came out of the front door with goods in hand, I marched up to him and grabbed guitar number two. We each went to our respective targets and placed the cases upright as instructed, blocking the view of the side mirrors. I knocked on the tinted window, and Babyface rolled it down. Rodney did the same with his.
“Look,” I said. “Terrorizing us isn’t going to get you anywhere. Any other sane person would go straight to the police, but I’m sure we can work it out.”
“The money, the girl,” he said.
“I thought you only cared about your money?” I asked.
“Yes, but if we find the one, I’m sure we’ll find the other. If we get the money quick enough, we’ll consider being lenient. After all, Ms. Almeida was part of our Portuguese church-going community.”
I wanted to lash out and say that her father was also part of that community but held my tongue. I glanced over at Stevie and it looked like he was trying to stare down Rodney. His tough guy expression seemed so contrived. I directed my attention back to Babyface.
“You really expect us to turn her in, assuming that we knew where she was, hoping you’d be lenient. Never in a million years. Lenient? Yeah, right.”
“We want our property, ok. Forget about the girl. We only want our property. And if you can get it to us, we’ll leave you alone. All of you. You have my word.”
“Your word means nothing to me. I don’t know you, and I don’t care to either. I’d never betray Amy. And another thing, if anything happens to me or any of my friends, there’ll be a price to pay.”
“A price, huh?” He looked amused at my pipsqueak attempt to scare him off.
Right then, the horn beeped.
“Now once and for all, good evening,” I said and trotted back to the Beast.
Stevie was even faster than me, and we were soon back on the road with the gangster tag-team right behind us.
“Don’t go straight towards Woonsocket,” Dale said. “Head towards Attleboro or something. We need to give it a couple miles.”
“Give what a couple miles?” I asked.
Stevie was still on autopilot, stuck in his own head.
“The sugar,” Dale said. “That’s why I got the sugar. To put in their gas tank. It won’t gunk up their engine as everyone thinks. It will clog up the fuel filter and stop those sissy ass mofos in their tracks.”
“Dale, you’re the whole enchilada,” I said, applauding his resourcefulness. I was proud of him and knew there was a reason I didn’t refuse his request to come with us.
“Sugar in the gas tank?” Stevie asked, finally joining our presence. “How’d you think of that?”
“I’m an evil S.O.B., I guess. Plus, I work in a used car lot. We get paid to dupe people all day long. It’ll run a couple hundred to figure out the problem and get it fixed. Between that and the money they paid me for the Pacer, we’re about even considering that my new drum set cost almost two grand. And some of it’s still usable.”
We clocked about six miles before the black sedan fell out of view. To be on the safe side, we gave it another minute before commencing a new route straight to the Rockin’ Steady. Upon arrival, minutes before show time, they rushed us to the backstage room via a side door. Tommy and Mike were sunk into a puffy sofa and equipped
with twin Budweisers. After a brief session of high fives, back slaps, and ays & ohs, we quickly traded war stories.
“You guys first,” I said. “How’d you lose those bastards?”
Tommy leaned back in the couch even further and put his right ankle on his left knee. “I tell you, those chumps were like glue. No matter what we did, we couldn’t give them the slip.” He took a swig of his beer, pressed out a resounding burp and continued. “But we happened to pass a car wash on the corner of Broad Street and Oak, and I got an idea.”
“Yeah, it was weird,” Mike said, “Tommy with an idea that wasn’t someone else’s.”
“Stuff it, Mike. I got ideas. I just don’t show off with them like some of you posers.” He gave Mike the finger.
“Cut the shit,” I said, “and tell us what happened.”
Tommy’s sourpuss mutated to the look of a braggart. “So, this buddy of mine is manager at a car wash in Fairlawn. You know, the kind that you drive through, and it has all that spray and wax and buffing things spinning around to get your car nice and shiny. So, we take the detour and, sure enough, he’s there. He’s always there. And as luck may have it, he was outside collecting cash and guiding everyone through that machine. These jokers, they’re still following and get right in line behind us. It was unbelievable. They think they’re going to get a nice shine on their boat while keeping tabs on us. Get this. I tell my buddy through the window that we need to ditch these losers, and he says he’s got me covered. We put our car in neutral and got pulled through the wash. They did the same and were still right behind us. As soon as we were out, my buddy stopped the contraption, and they were stuck. We took a right out of the exit like we were going towards Providence and circled back around to where we could see the cars leaving the car wash. Those clowns lost about two minutes and must have cursed my buddy to no end. They took off towards Providence, and I assume they gave up the chase at some point when they realized we disappeared into thin air. We drove up to 146, cut through Manville and made it here by beer o’clock.”
“Yeah, well get this,” Dale said, trying to one up them. “We bagged them with the old sugar in the gas tank trick.”
“Good one,” Tommy said, his face turning to stone.
“Yeah, good one,” Mike repeated, flipping through the pages of the weekly entertainment guide, appearing uninterested.
Dale looked flabbergasted that they weren’t in awe of his cunning. Tommy and Mike couldn’t maintain their facade for too long and started cracking up.
“Really dude,” Tommy shouted. “Sugar in the gas tank? I thought that shit was only a myth.”
“Great one,” Piano Mike said. “Even I wouldn’t have thought of that”
“Yeah, Mike, you would have been at home hiding under your bed,” Dale said.
“Alright, enough,” I said. “Bust balls later. Right now, we’ve got a job to do. The fans are waiting.” I looked over at Dale. “You ready?”
“Good to go.”
“Mikey?”
“All fingers and two ears.”
“And you, Tommy?”
“Ready to put my bass in their face.”
“Meister Stevie?”
“What?”
“Ready to go?” I said.
“Guess so.”
I gazed at him, perplexed. “Really? You guess so?” My best friend in the whole world seemed to be in a funk, and it was killing me. Again, we made it past some unsettling hurdles; contrary to his usual disposition, he continued to pout like he did all day. I had to act and somehow turn his mood around. “Can we go outside?” I said. “Have a little chat?”
“Guess so,” he said again, carrying himself like limp spaghetti.
“Boys, we need a minute. Why don’t you suck down some more beers and do your silly little warm-ups. Come on, Stevie.”
We stepped out the side door and walked out into the parking lot. The cars were jammed so close together, they’d have to be driven away one by one, in careful succession. And the noise level spilling out of the small hall bowled me over. The pre-show music being fed through the PA was cranked on high, but the crowd’s babble even overpowered that. I could only imagine the dense mass of Woonsocket faithful that must have been awaiting us.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I went to see her, early this morning, before sunrise.”
“Amy?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok. Why’d you go see her?”
“Don’t know, make sure she was alright. And to give her something.”
My heart palpitated when I heard the last bit. I figured I’d need to get to that part later. “Stevie, I have to admit, I went there Thursday night and didn’t tell you. Thought it’d complicate things. And I didn’t feel bad about it either. It was wonderful. I told her about my parents and grandparents, and we totally bonded.” I still wasn’t ready to hear about what he gave her, expecting the worst after the kiss pic, so I chose a different line of questioning. “How’d you get to the warehouse?”
“Rode my BMX bike to the old race track behind the supermarket, crossed the trestle, and did the rest on foot. Threw pebbles to get her attention. Guess I scared her. Once she saw it was me, she let down the ladder.”
“Seriously? Direct over the river? Stone’s guys are spying on us like all the time. Sure you weren’t followed?”
“It was five in the morning, dark as night.”
“Positive?”
“Positive,” he said, sounding annoyed.
It seemed reckless how he got there, but it wasn’t the time to dig in. “And she’s ok?” I asked.
“Bored, but yeah, ok.”
He wasn’t offering up any other information than simple answers to my questions, so I went straight to the matter concerning me, regardless of how much the truth may hurt. “What’d you give her?”
He removed a walkie talkie from a small pouch fastened to his belt. “The other half of this,” he said. “It’s a good one, not legal, but I can talk to her all the way from my house.”
I expected a ring or pin or something, as a token of his affection. But a walkie talkie?
“Where’d you get them?” I asked.
“Dad’s friend with connections.”
“Perfect. Now we can call her whenever we want.”
“There’s only two,” Stevie said.
“That’s fine” I said. “The important thing is that we’ll know what’s happening at the warehouse.”
“True,” he answered.
“So, why’re you bummed?” I asked, not sure if I missed the punchline. “This is great news.”
“Because I went without telling you,” he said as his puppy dog, pissed-on-the-carpet stare fell towards the ground.
“Because you went without telling me?” That was it? He’d acted as though Amy was my steady, and he’d impregnated her. But a visit and a walkie talkie? “Don’t sweat it man,” I said, playing down my relief. “You don’t need to tell me what you’re doing all the time. We’re on the same team. I’m just glad we’re safe, and Amy’s safe, and now we can talk to her and that we’re all here tonight, the band, I mean. And better yet, listen to that commotion inside the club. If this isn’t going to be a bash, I don’t know what is. And once we take the stage, we’ll blow their ears off, and all hell will break loose.”
I gazed at him with my head tilted forward, beaming. “We cool now, brother?”
Stevie’s eyes sparkled again, and his complexion shone. He stood straighter and acted more poised than seconds prior. Even his afro-tight, blond ringlets seemed to uncoil and recover their spring. “We’re cool” he said, curling up the far ends of his sliver-lips in a show of reprieve. “And guess what. Dad said he’ll come tonight. Been a while since he’s seen us.”
“Alright. Let’s do it then.” I wrapped my arms around him and e
scorted him back into the venue.
The five of us huddled together for the second time of the evening for a final injection of team spirit. Once done with our Kumbaya moment, Tommy told his cousin Mo that we were ready to go on.
Mo was a sucker for an open ear and must have relished the opportunity to introduce us. He moseyed onto the stage and took his time to bathe in the spotlight. His eyes, mere slits because of the heavy illumination, scanned the room. He held the edge of his right hand against his brow and appeared to salute the crowd. When ready, he grabbed the microphone off the stand, fumbling at first, and jabbered away.
“Hello, Woonsocket.” Like in Providence, the emphasis was on the last syllable.
Everyone in the place knew him and chanted his nickname “MoMo, MoMo, MoMo, MoMo…”
“Tonight, and for one night only, I’d like you to welcome the best band in Rhode I…” He stopped midsentence, looking befuddled, and pondered too long.
“Spit it out, MoMo,” someone yelled.
“I’ll spit you out, Larry,” Mo screamed back. He stood alert like a prairie dog. “Anyone else?” he asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Good. Now, as I was saying, let’s welcome the best band in the whole world to the…” Again, he paused, bowing his head as he moved his finger tips to his temples. It looked like he was having a migraine attack, or even a stroke. The crowd’s restless chatter proliferated and was colored by sporadic crude outbursts and the occasional lone wolf, publicly busting Mo’s balls. Nobody even tried to see if Mo was ok. It seemed to be a common occurrence.
Mo’s hands dropped and formed dual fists, like hammers. He erected his spine, appearing confident, like he’d conceived the idea of his generation. “No, no,” he said. “Let’s make it the whole damn universe.” A warped grin dominated his face, and he slouched over, bobbing, as he alternated from left to right pointing out people that he knew with his two index fingers. “Yes. That’s it. Let’s all welcome the best band in the whole entire universe to the ROCKIN’ STEADY. Ladies and gentlemen, FOUR…N…MOOOOOORE…” He got carried away with the drawn out ‘Moore’, like a hyperbolic radio voiceover but with a ghoul-like intonation.