by Tim Curran
“So, you see what I’m saying, right? Al was tough, determined. Stood up to those guys. Nine out of ten people would’ve crumbled. Hell, ten out of ten people. But not Al. Finally, when things chilled out, Al had a breakdown. He came out of it okay. His nerves one day just said, Hey, enough is enough, man, and right to the rest home he goes. I tell you this story because Al rode the storm when things were tough and gave as good as he got. It wasn’t until the dust settled that he fell to pieces, when he had time to think about how ugly it all was, how close he’d been to getting killed. And I think, Ben, that your wife is like that. She’s a tough broad, right? Tough, capable, knows what she wants and how to get it. But now that the action’s over for the time, now that there’s time to sort it all out, it’s tearing her up. Just like Al. That’s what I’m telling you.”
Ben smiled, looked him in the eye. “Thanks. I guess that makes me feel better.” But the words were barely out of his lips, when a shadow crossed his face again. “I hope that’s all it is. I really do. God knows I do. But if—”
“Don’t even think that. Not yet.”
Ben looked close to tears. “I can’t help myself. She’s in a bad way, Lou. We both know that. If she’s a danger to the others, then, shit, I’ll have to get her away somehow so she won’t infect them. I’m not being pessimistic here, just realistic.”
Lou admired his strength. He nodded, listened to the muted voices singing on in the basement. “Christ, how long can those nuts keep that up? They’re giving me the creeps.”
“Wouldn’t be so bad if they’d just come out and introduce themselves already.”
“Maybe,” Lou said darkly, “they will when they’re ready.”
“I guess that’s what I’m afraid of.”
*
Lisa sat in her chair by the fireplace, cloaked in shadow. Johnny sat across from her. They’d been staring at each other for nearly ten minutes. Not speaking, not moving, just staring. She had this unsettling feeling that something important, something pertinent, something revelatory was about to be said.
The air between them was hush, yet electric like the atmosphere before an important presidential press conference.
“Well?” she finally said. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You know. Whatever you’re thinking.”
She could see his face break into a smile. “Pretty perceptive, aren’t ya?”
“That’s me. They voted me Most Likely to be Perceptive in high school. Cut River High, by the way. Same place you probably went…back in the stone age.”
He was still smiling. “Were you voted Miss Piss-and-Vinegar, too?”
“I was voted so many things, I can’t remember them all. Problem was, I was out in the parking lot getting stoned all the time and I never did show up for those damn awards ceremonies.”
“You got a nice ass,” he said.
“Pardon me?”
“I said you’ve got a nice ass.”
“Yeah, I heard you. I just couldn’t believe you.”
“I speak my mind.”
“Remind me to be impressed.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
Playful exchange finished, the silence fell again. As completely and thoroughly as if an invisible sheet had dropped over them. But it was still there, Lisa knew, that something that needed to be said.
What was it?
A question? A confession?
She lit a cigarette. In the glow of the flame Johnny’s face was all lines and bony pockets and shifting shadow, his eyes shining and metallic. It was a tough face, a dangerous face, but an intriguing face. Desirable, even, in some way.
Here’s a guy, she found herself thinking, that’s lived the sort of life I’ll only see on TV or read about in books. She wondered what all that fierce, dehumanizing training did to a man. What happened to someone’s soul when they killed people for a living, when they waded through blood and guts and cloak and dagger bureaucratic bullshit for too long? What happened when they saw something they weren’t supposed to see, when they were cut loose from the machine and dropped back into a society that had no practical use for them?
But she knew what happened to them: they became Johnny Davis.
They became disillusioned and hateful and paranoid and angry. The same way she was going to be after this little waltz when the government began denying and she began to look like a fool. How long could you could stare right through the walls of society and see the crawly things that spun the wheels before you rotted inside?
“Must be quite a life,” Johnny said, scratching the side of his bald, fleshy skull. “Living the way you do.”
“Rock and roll, you mean?”
“Sure. Electric Witch, you say? Catchy. I like it.” He looked down at the floor. “Before the war we listened to the Who, the Animals, Hendrix, Beatles, Stones—all the big groups. Some of the crazy, loud shit—Blue Cheer, MC5, Sir Lord Baltimore. Over in ‘Nam, you heard a lot of CCR and Motown. A lot of Country Joe and the Fish, Janis Joplin, the Doors. When I got back, it was a lot of heavy shit. But different. They called it acid rock then. Black Sabbath, Led Zepplin, Uriah Heep, Lucifer’s Friend, all that stuff.”
Lisa was pleasantly surprised. “I never pictured you as a music fan.”
“I was once.”
She exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You are a riddle. When I spoke about being in a band, about having hit records, big tours…you didn’t seem to be impressed. In fact, you didn’t seem to care.”
“I’m not easily impressed. Things people say they are or have done or want to do, don’t mean shit to me.”
“I wasn’t bragging,” she said, feeling her cheeks redden.
“No, you weren’t. That’s why I knew you were all right.”
“Oh…”.
He was smiling again. “What’s it like playing in front of thousands of people?”
“Nerve-wracking as all hell, if you want the truth. When you start, you play in front of the mirror. Then to your friends. Then to other wanna-bees. Soon enough, if you’re worth a damn, you’re in a band learning. Then you play to a dozen people. First time, you want to piss your pants.”
“But it gets easier?”
She pushed back her thick dark hair from her eyes. “Yes. After awhile, two, three dozen is nothing. Then you play to a hundred and it gets bad again. Then a thousand.”
“How many you up to now?”
“Quarter of a million last June. We headlined a gothfest in Ohio. So many people…it’s scary. You see them out there and know they paid good money to see you, that they expect their money’s worth and your knees get weak. Our drummer, Sandy, she kept puking backstage. We had to dope her up the first night.”
Johnny was nodding. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, eh? Must be lots of partying. Must be like one big high.”
Lisa was having trouble looking at him now. The conversation was being steered in a direction she wanted no part of. “Sure, but it’s not all fun and games. It’s grueling, believe it or not, that life. On the road all the time, motel after motel, night after night. Goes on for months. Sometimes you’re not even sure where you are. You can’t remember.”
“If it wasn’t for the booze and drugs, it would be hard to get through it,” Johnny said. “Am I right?”
“If you say so.”
He stuck a plug of Red Man chew into his cheek, started working it. “Before I went in the Navy, late sixties we’re talking here, you could get pot, pills, some hash or acid now and then. But none of the real hard stuff. Not in Cut River. In the war, Southeast Asia and all, drugs were everywhere. I saw them destroy a lot of good people. When I got back, it was different. You could get coke if you knew the right people. Even some junk.”
Lisa felt her face pulling tight. She was beginning to feel nauseous, her nose was running. It was time for another fix. “Drugs are everywhere now.” She started to rise, grabbing for her purse. “I gotta use the can—”
But Johnny forced her
back down. He had his big hands locked on her knees, his face swam in uncomfortably close. “How long you been using?”
“What?” Lisa said, without much conviction.
“You heard me. You want me to say it loud enough for everyone to hear?” he asked her. “You’re using H and we both know it. How long?”
“A year, maybe.” She couldn’t believe this. The sonofabitch knew and had probably known all along. She really needed a taste now. Goddammit.
He kept nodding his head, mulling it over. “You snorting or spiking?”
“Snorting,” she sighed.
He released her, sat back. “I’ve been around, Lisa. I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen too many friends fucked by that needle. I’m not judging you, understand, I’m just saying I know it when I see it. You ever think of quitting?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“No, it’s not. It’s hell on earth. I’ve seen guys kick it before. I stayed by their side while they did it. It’s ugly, it’s horrible what that garbage does to you. I know, I know.” He folded his hands in his lap. “When this is over, if this ever ends, you wanna get off, I know all the tricks. I can help you.”
She was starting to shiver. “Why would you want to?”
He smiled thinly. “I am a friend to the friendless. You better go take care of business.”
Lisa did, more and more astounded by Johnny Davis all the time.
*
Over by the window, Ruby Sue and Joe talked in hush voices. They were crowded together on a love seat, their duffel of guns and odds and ends at their feet.
Joe was said, “Half up front, half up front, babe. We’re locked in and you know it. We can’t back out now. These people…you know these people…they won’t understand us backing out. They aren’t gonna give a fuck what our reasons are. They ain’t gonna give a fuck if somebody dropped the bomb.”
“It won’t be easy now,” Ruby Sue said. “We’re lucky we found her at all in this goddamn mess, man, but it won’t be easy. That guy she’s with, that dude’s gonna be real trouble. He looks bad.”
“He is bad. But we’ll do him, too, if we have to.”
“Just bide our time.”
“That’s it,” Joe said. “The time’ll come. Sooner or later. Now why don’t we go cozy up to them a bit?”
*
When Lisa got back she looked revitalized.
It truly was a miracle what a little snort of heroin could do for a junkie. She left looking haggard, eyes red as beets, face drawn, nose running, trembling like a sick pup...and came back looking young and pretty and ready to take on the world. Her eyes were bright, she was relaxed, in control, all together easy and smooth.
Johnny saw the change. Had seen such transformations before and was not moved to words. Only in his heart, maybe, was he saddened.
“Better?” he said.
“Yes,” Lisa told him and would say no more on the subject. Instead, she said, “My band, Johnny…Electric Witch…we’re riding high now, but we’re all screwed-up. Everything’s a mess.”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah, and then some. We’re at a stage where we can’t afford to screw up. But all four of us, Christ, we’re hanging on by a thread. Sandy, our drummer, she’s shooting all the time. Our singer’s coked up and drunk ninety percent of the time. Our bass player is so strung-out, we can barely get her on stage. And I’m no better. I’ll admit that.”
Johnny sighed, spat tobacco juice into a paper cup he was holding. “You guys, girls, need to dry out. You need intervention. You need somebody to come in and clean house, get you guys into dry-out before it’s too late.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Nothing is,” he said. “Was it easy getting to where you are now?”
She thought about it. “No.”
“There you go. You worked hard to make it and now you’ve got to work hard to stay there. But you won’t do it this way. Like I said, I’ve seen this plenty of times. First off, you have to confront them, admit to your problem, make them admit to theirs.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, right. I tried that. They don’t think they have problems and they don’t think I do either.” She lowered her voice. “They’re afraid, Johnny. We were drugged up getting to where we are now. It’s insulation against reality. Everyone’s afraid we wouldn’t be worth a shit without the stuff, you know?”
“You didn’t get your talent out of a baggie,” he reminded her.
“Maybe not.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I might be the worst person in the world to be giving advice, Lisa. My life is a total waste and I admit that. I’ve done my share of snorting and shooting. The best thing for your band and you is intervention. A third party. Someone who not only cares about the four of you but has a business interest in this. Someone with something to lose if you guys fuck this up. I don’t know, like a manager or an agent or something. Your mouthpiece.”
“Then we are in trouble,” she said. “Because he’s the one who gets us our drugs.”
Johnny pulled a face. “Shit.”
“Yeah, he’s very much part of it. His name’s Richard Chazz. He’s one of the best in the business, but he’s in way over his head.”
“Money-wise or drug-wise?”
Ah, now there was the question. “Both. In fact, he’s dropped out of sight. Nobody’s heard from him in nearly two weeks.”
“What gives?”
It took some time to tell.
Chazz hadn’t gotten to where he was on his good looks or business acumen, though he was pretty loaded on the latter. Half of the ride to the top had been accomplished through connections and loans. Both were accomplished by the same group of people. The same people that kept upping the interest and kept wanting a bigger chunk of his management company and, ultimately, his bands.
“What? Like the Mafia or something?”
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. But they’re heavy people. They’re into the entertainment industry at every conceivable level. He never put a name to them. He always mentioned shit about his silent partners and things like that. When we asked questions, he got nervous. I’m pretty sure he gets our drugs from these people.”
Johnny shook his head. “What the hell was he thinking getting involved with those hoods?”
Lisa sighed. “Richard is good, Johnny. But he’s also hungry all the time. He isn’t above shady deals to promote himself or his product, in this case, us. Electric Witch.”
“And now he’s disappeared?” Johnny asked hesitantly. “You think maybe—”
“No, at least I hope not. All I know is that last month before he took his little powder, he was a nervous wreck. Thought he was being followed. Jumped every time his cell rang. He hired bodyguards. He was coked-up and paranoid.” She let that lay a moment while she sorted it out in her head. “Bottom line is we have trouble right now. We got lawyers and record execs and road managers climbing up our ass. We’ve been so wasted, we don’t know shit about the business side.”
“Get another manager.”
“We have contracts.”
“How about the cops? The feds? Can’t you go to them?”
She shook her head. “You fuck with these people, you’re done. That’s what I’ve been told. I don’t mean they kill you or anything like that. They don’t have to: they just kill your career. Pretty soon the deals aren’t happening. Record execs don’t want you. You have a hell of a time getting studio time. And touring? Forget it, dates are cancelled. Your road crew, which are all union by the way, boycott you. It’s happened before. And if all that isn’t bad enough, we’re so trashed all the time, we can’t make sense of it. And maybe we don’t want to.”
“Shit,” Johnny said.
“All I know is it was getting crazy in LA, so I bailed. Came home. Came home to see my parents…and look what I walked into? I think they might be dead.”
Johnny squeezed her long-fingered hand in his own callused mitt, said in his de
ep, resonant voice, “Let’s get out of this first, rock star. Then we’ll worry about the next step.”
Lisa attempted a smile. “You need a job, Johnny?” she said to him. “You ever thought about managing a heavy metal band?”
*
“Put that out for chrissake,” Joe said. “Keep your head clean.”
Ruby Sue roached her joint. “Not like we’re gonna get busted, babe. I think all the cops in this town are running around naked, foaming at the mouth and pissing on hydrants.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“I hear you, I hear you.”
Joe sat there, thinking, plotting it out in his mind. There was no going back so it simply had to happen. He couldn’t go back to Detroit unless the deed was done. And if that meant that everyone in the room had to—
“How you two holding up?”
Joe looked up, saw that Lou-guy standing there, the salesman. He wasn’t a bad sort, but he was just another problem in Joe’s mind. Who would ever have dreamed it would get this fucked up? A simple job like this?
“We’re holding,” Ruby Sue said.
Joe nodded.
Lou looked a little uncomfortable. “Hey, I think my lighter puked out on me. Could I borrow yours?”
“Sure, man,” Ruby Sue handed one to him. “Keep it.”
“Thanks.”