“He sure didn’t let on,” I said. “He seemed to think we’d caused it.”
“Yeah, that’s Tom,” Cecil said. He looked at Beanie, who yawned, and then at Yogi, who lay slouched over the end of the roll-away, his hand in the bag of Fritos. “I think we’d better get goin’. Beanie needs his sleep. He’s a growing boy, you know.”
Cecil got up and yanked at the shoulder of Beanie’s shirt. “Come on, buddy. Time to go.” Beanie unraveled his arms and legs and stood up unsteadily.
I followed them into the hallway. “I’m glad we finally met you guys. At least we’ll have a couple of friends in the bar. By the way, do you know Kitten and Kyle? I met them last night. They got the beer for us.”
Cecil nodded. “Yeah, I saw you and Mick walk out with ’em. They’re real regulars. Kyle’s kinda clueless, but he’s a good guy, I guess. Kitten’s another story. She hangs around here a lot and seems to know Tom pretty good. If I were you, I’d watch myself around her.”
I was starting to give Cecil a nod, but he must have taken it as a question.
He shrugged. “She’s a little scary, that’s all.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve been trying to figure her out myself.”
“Well, watch yourself, man.” Cecil shook his head. “I get the idea that she wants outta here bad. Maybe even worse than me and Beanie. She’s tried to hook up with more than one band that’s come through here.”
“She told me she knows all the promoters who book the bar.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her talk to ‘em when they come in. She’s real friendly when she wants to be, and I think she’s screwing some of ’em.”
My mind started to race. “Rick Astley? Is he one of them?”
Cecil’s brow furrowed. “Astley?”
“Out of Denver? Big Country Productions?”
“Sounds familiar, but I’m not sure. I know she’s pretty tight with this one local promoter, but I think he’s named Beeber, or something like that—anyhow, he’s a real asshole. Ol’ Kyle doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.” Cecil shrugged again. “Anyhow, we’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
I watched Cecil guide Beanie the ten steps to the stairwell, then disappear.
13
LATE THURSDAY MORNING the four of us ran down the sidewalk with our coats pulled up over our heads. Rob trailed behind, too cool to run, his battered Stetson shielding his head and face. The rest of us were getting soaked.
The rain came down at an angle, driven sideways by a north wind blowing off the strait. When we turned into Pam’s Cup O’ Coffee Café, my tennis shoes, sopping wet, squeaked with water. Ducking beneath the covered entryway of the café, I stopped to brush off my jacket and rub water out of my ears. Since leaving the hotel, I’d been hearing a peculiar hissing sound, like radio static, coming from somewhere near my head. At first, I’d thought it was the sound of raindrops hitting my jacket, but now I realized it was internal. I yawned to pop my ears, but it didn’t help.
Rob caught up with me before I went through the door and shook water from his hat. “A nice day if you’re a duck, huh?”
“Another beautiful day in paradise.”
We entered the café in time to see Evangeline seating the other guys. She nodded in our direction as we took our seats before turning back to Mick. “No, like I just said, it’s too late. We stopped serving breakfast an hour ago.”
“Be kind, will ya, sweetheart? I have me heart set on some bacon and eggs.”
Sam scowled. “She said she couldn’t already.”
Evangeline looked back and forth between the two of them, who were separated only by Yogi. “Well, I’ll see what I can do, but you should’ve gotten up with Edward. He was in here at, what, Edward, nine?”
Yogi nodded, prompting a cold stare from Mick. Evangeline walked back toward the kitchen.
“You’ve already eaten?” I asked Yogi. I noticed that he was wearing a white puka shell necklace, something I’d never seen on him before.
“I was up before nine. Didn’t want to waste the day.”
“Waste the day? It’s fucking raining.” My words came out edgy and irritated, and I suddenly knew why my ears were hissing. Before leaving the hotel, I had taken four cross-tops in an effort to push away my hangover, and I had overestimated what I needed to get through the day. They were too much. As if on cue, my mouth went dry, my heart began to race, and the hissing in my ears grew louder.
Evangeline returned with glasses of water and then left us again to get coffee. Mick and Sam disappeared behind their menus, and I lit a cigarette and gazed across at them, the smoke burning my throat as I inhaled. They had been sniping at each other all morning.
“Mick, Sam,” I said, “are you going to do this all day? I think it’s time to kiss and make up. We’re a band, remember? All for one, and one for all?”
Yogi leaned back in his chair as if to give them room to shake hands, but neither of them took the hint. Instead, Mick reached out to inspect the salt and pepper shakers, and Sam turned his head to watch raindrops strike the window.
“Look.” I leaned forward, my face already warmed by a rapidly accelerating pulse. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than your fucking little disagreement. Like making sure the switch box for the lights is working before tonight’s show. And we need to start thinking about how we’re gonna handle this Hell’s Angels thing. So why don’t you two guys cut out this shit.”
Sam eyebrows went up, apparently surprised by the sharpness of my voice. “Hey, like I said last night, I’m willing to drop this if Mick is. I just want him to clean up his act.”
I looked over at Mick. “Well?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Mick said with a shrug. “I couldn’t suss out his problem anyhow, y’know?”
It wasn’t an apology, but I figured it was close enough. “Great. We’re one big, happy family again.”
Evangeline returned with the coffee, and we sat in stony silence while she circled the table filling cups. I took another drag on my cigarette, again feeling the irritation in my throat, and watched Evangeline pour Sam’s coffee. Moving from him to Mick, she seemed to sense the lingering tension, sneaking a glance at Mick while filling his cup.
He looked up at her. “Cheers, sweetheart. By the way, I watched for you last night. I fancied you’d be there.”
“I said I’d try to come.” She smiled at him and her features softened. “I promise I’ll try to get by before the end of the week.” She took our orders and returned to the kitchen.
I pulled another Marlboro from the red pack in my shirt pocket but dropped the match trying to light it. My hands were shaking. I returned the cigarette to my pocket and took a series of long, deep breaths until my heartbeat slowed a notch. “O.K.,” I said, “let’s talk about a few things before the food gets here. Maybe Beanie and Cecil were exaggerating about the Hell’s Angels—”
“Born to be wild, ” Yogi suddenly sang out.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yogi grinned at me, apparently pleased by his timing. “Well, they weren’t exaggerating. Evangeline told me that the Mai Tai is known as a biker’s bar.”
I took another deep breath to fight off the flutter in my stomach. “Well, then, I guess we need to have a plan in case bottles really do start flying.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Rob said, leaning forward. “I don’t really care what Mr. Tom thinks. I’m beatin’ a retreat if shit starts hitting us.”
“How about me?” Mick asked. “I’m gonna be a bleedin’ target up there.”
Sam glanced at him and smiled.
“That’s why we need to talk about it,” I said.
“Look,” Rob said, “I’ve been thinking....” He paused and glanced at Sam.
“What? You’ve been thinking what?” I heard the impatience in my voice.
Rob avoided my eyes. “Well, I was thinking that maybe we should consider pulling out of this gig. I’m getting really bad vibes about this place. We can get shows
in Creedly; we don’t need to put up with this shit.” He stopped and looked around the table, his gaze halting at Sam.
“Yeah,” Sam said, “I think I’m with Rob on this.”
My head whipped toward him. “You’re what?”
“Rob’s right. I’ve had enough of this. This place is pretty much a dead end. And I’m tired of carryin’ the load for certain people in this band.” He gave Mick a darting look. “I’m ready to hit the road.”
Again, I caught a flicker of eye contact between Sam and Rob. My mind raced and I realized what had happened: They’d already discussed it and had agreed to pull out of the gig. “So what’re you saying? You really want out?”
“Don’t get excited,” Rob said. “We’re just talking about this one gig.”
“The hell with that,” I said. “You guys pull out of this gig and we’re finished.”
“Jeez, Daniel—” Sam started.
“No. I mean it. I’ll find other people to play with. How about you, Mick? Yogi?”
Mick removed his glasses and rubbed at the lenses. “I dunno.”
“I’m having a good time,” Yogi said. “And I don’t think anything too bad will happen—”
“Easy for you to say, idn’t?” Mick muttered. “You’re protected by your drum set.”
“Look,” Rob said, looking sideways at me, “I just want to talk it over, O.K.?”
Anger surged through me. I knew I wasn’t thinking straight, that the drugs had sped up the firing of my mental synapses, but I was suddenly tired of working so hard to keep everybody happy. “So you’re willing to throw it all away just because of a few bikers?”
“It’s not just the bikers,” Rob answered, his fingers tapping the tabletop. “It’s everything. This doesn’t fit with my long-term vision, you know?”
“Your vision? Fuck that, Rob. It’s really about Candi, isn’t it? You just want to get home.”
Rob’s face tightened. “Watch what you say about her, man. This has nothing to do with her. The band’s just as important to me as it is to you. I’m just not sure this gig’s worth it.”
“That’s just fucking bullshit.” The hissing in my ears intensified and my fists clenched. I knew I might hit him if I stayed. I pushed away from the table, knocking over a glass of water. Grabbing my jacket, I headed through the door.
Two blocks of wet sidewalk were behind me before I slowed, chilled by the rain, my ears still hissing with unspent adrenaline and amphetamines. I pulled up under the awning of a shuttered department store and lit a cigarette, exhaling painful smoke as I stared out through the rain at the blackened sky. The band had betrayed me. I traced the outline of the dog tag through the fabric of my shirt and felt moisture in my eyes. Emptiness followed, but I couldn’t stop the blood from surging through my veins.
I closed my eyes and saw Townshend’s Jimmy on the rock in the ocean, the water inching up, the waves covering his shoes, his knees, his waist. I was wrong; the water would take me if I let it. The sound of rain striking the awning filled my head, echoing back and forth between my ears like individual notes, fighting, jostling, forming small groups, joining together into larger ones until they finally became a single harsh sound roaring in my ears.
Was this finally it, the perfect chord? If so, then it was not the beautiful sound of unified notes but the discordant noise that separated me from everyone else. Was this what Townshend had ultimately discovered? Was this what had nearly sent him over the edge?
I took another painful drag on the cigarette, leaned back against the outside wall of the store, and tried to fix my mind on what I now understood. Up until now, Rob had been my best friend, but if he did leave, he could be replaced. The same with Sam. I recalled how the Who had changed their original lead singer and drummer, how Roger Daltry and Keith Moon had both left the band in anger, only to return. The Who had survived. Perhaps the Killjoys could, too. Maybe Mick and Yogi would stay with me. I owned the Blue Bomb and most of the P.A. equipment. But we had to get through this week or we were finished. Hell, I might be finished.
“Hey, Daniel.”
I looked up. Rob ducked his head and stepped under the awning.
“What do you want?”
He shoved his hands down into his pockets. “Look, man, I didn’t mean to piss you off. I just wanted to discuss things.”
“Yeah?” I threw down my cigarette and stubbed it out.
“We talked it over after you left. We’re willing to stick it out the rest of the week if you are. I don’t want to screw you guys. Sam feels the same way.”
I stared at him until his gaze shifted downward.
“What about after that?”
Rob looked up. “After that?”
“When we get home. Are you and Sam gonna stay with it? I need to know because I’m going on with or without you.”
Rob gave me a long look. “It’s that important to you?”
“It is.”
Rob let out a long sigh. “Hell, I don’t know. You know how I feel about the band, but I need to talk to Candi about it. It’d be different if we had a future, but Candi’s right, playing clubs like this isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
I started shaking my head slowly, and Rob added, “Look, I’m not saying I’m going to quit. I just need time to think about it.”
“You’re wrong, Rob.” I stepped on the cigarette again. “We’re going places, and this is how we pay our dues.” I cocked my head. “You just don’t have the stomach for it, do you?” I paused for a second, then went in with the needle. “Or is this just all about Candi?”
His face jerked away, pale-blue eyes shooting into the rain.
“Shit, man, I told you it’s not just about her.” He was stepping awkwardly side to side. “Look, it’s about a lot of things. It’s about my future, O.K.? I have to make some decisions. Candi’s just the one forcing me to make them right now.”
I stared at him. Once again it struck me that he and I were now on different paths, that, for him, music was only a boyhood distraction. I had found what I thought was the perfect chord, and now it stood between us. Deep down, I felt bad about what he was going through with Candi, but I knew that I could go on without him, and I would if I needed to.
“O.K., Rob,” I finally said, “let’s finish the week and see what happens.”
14
STEPPING OVER dark puddles forming in street intersections, I followed Mick back to the hotel. The others had already left in the station wagon in search of parts for our malfunctioning switch box, a convenient excuse to escape the tension from our argument in the café.
As soon as we were inside the room, Mick fell onto the unmade bed and announced, “I’m bloody knackered.”
With my heart still tapping out a steady beat and my brain reeling from the implications of my confrontation with Rob, sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. “You’re taking a nap? You only got up three hours ago.”
“Naff off.” Mick pulled a pillow over his face.
“Look, we need to talk about the band.”
“You’re all pilled up, mate. Go do something. Leave me alone.”
Mick was right. The hissing in my ears had stopped, but the electrical charges pulsing from every nerve ending kept going. I sat on the roll-away, fidgeting, pondering my options. It was only 2 :3 0 in the afternoon, but the day already felt lost. I moved over to the window. Rainwater streamed down the outside of the fogged-up pane of glass, making it impossible to see the decaying town outside our room.
Mick was asleep within minutes. I listened to his breathing and paced the room, pausing periodically to rub a new spot in the window. Nothing moved in the hotel’s empty back parking lot. Finally, I pulled out my Graham Greene novel and started to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. The place was so damp. God, it was depressing.
I remembered seeing a library near the county courthouse just up from the post office. I knew I’d get soaked, but I could no longer remain in the room. The van would be drier, but it wa
s only four or five blocks. Hell, I was already wet. I swapped my soaked tennis shoes for boots, pulled on my jacket, and stuffed the book into an inside pocket.
The rain had slowed by the time I got outside. Turning at the first corner, I looked up at the mountains behind town, seeing that the dark clouds that had piled high against the steep ridge to the south were starting to lift. I jaywalked across the street and cut between the courthouse and the police station. A cop glanced at me as he slid into a patrol car parked in front of the station.
I ran up the ten steps of the old brick library, almost slipping on the top step, and pushed through the heavy front door. The library smelled of damp books and furniture polish, but the hardwood floors and rows of bookcases gave off a comforting sense of solidity. An older woman wearing a simple print dress stood behind the semicircular checkout counter sorting through two stacks of books. She stopped and stared at me with a startled expression. My hair had exploded in the humidity. I pulled the tangled mess back with both hands and held it there, hoping to look less threatening.
“May I help you with something?” she asked.
“No, thanks. Actually, I was just looking for a quiet place to sit down and read for a while.” I pulled out my book and showed it to her, as if it proved what I was saying.
Her expression relaxed a bit. She pointed down a corridor lined with bookcases. “There are tables at the back. You’re welcome to read there.”
I walked down the passageway, scanning book titles as I went. My father had kept his home library stocked with hardbound books, buying a couple every month, and he had left many of them behind when he moved out of the house. I’d read most of them during the solitary months following Kevin’s death.
I slid out of my jacket and sat down at a long, gleaming table at the back of the library. An older couple slowly worked their way down a row of books; otherwise, the library seemed empty. I heard the faint ticking of a clock on the wall behind me. Quiet. I needed quiet.
I opened my battered paperback copy of The End of the Affair and pulled out the bookmark. The name on the bookmark startled me: Nita Annstrom. I hadn’t called her back. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember how she looked, how she sounded. I tried hard, but I couldn’t remember. I could picture her punky clothes but not her.
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