*****
While John and his family celebrated the birth of their newest family member, Danny Floyd lay in a drug and alcohol induced stupor. His parents, on the other hand, lay in their marital bed dead and beginning to smell. Danny had killed them within minutes of his arrival home from jail. He had then proceeded to get drunk and plan his next move. He’d teach them all that he deserved a little respect! Even an animal deserved to be met at the door after he’d gotten released from jail!
Danny mumbled in his sleep and then his eyes opened. His first thought was that he had to go and pay a visit to John Travis, the very reason behind all his current problems. Besides, it just wasn’t fair that Travis was getting worldwide recognition and his mentor, Danny Floyd, was getting zilch! Well, he decided, I’ll sit that aright, alright! I’ll show the world that even the greatest sometimes goes unrecognized until they put themselves on the front page.
He searched around until he found his bottle and took a long strong drink. He next searched for and found his baggy of crack rocks and his glass pipe. He placed a ten dollar rock in the bowl and held his lighter under the end, the flame crackling the rock as he sucked the thick blue white smoke deep into his lungs, instantly feeling the comforting, quietening, incredible sense of well-being sweep over him. Not once did he think of his parents in their bedroom; he only thought of John Travis and success.
When he finished the rock he lay back on his bed and rode the waves of wonder that the drug had brought him. After a few minutes he sat up, stepped over to his guitar stand and picked up his Ovation Yarri acoustic and after sitting back in the edge of the bed he began to play. The music that flowed from the soundboard was mind-bogglingly beautiful; his fingers danced along the fret board effortlessly bringing forth a sound that would make Eric Clapton, Kurt Hammitt, and Eddie van Halen gasp with awestruck wonder.
In fact the notes were slurred, fretted out and the timing was so bad off that only Danny Floyd could hear, understand and appreciate the complication that he heard in his mind, but couldn’t bring forth from the neck of the Ovation.
When he wound to a stop, his fingers buzzed as if with magic, he smiled with satisfaction. He stood and placed the guitar back onto the stand, not realizing that it was slightly out of tune and any professional would have heard it instantly and cringed.
Danny didn’t have to get dressed. He was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing when he had been released from jail. He didn’t bother brushing his teeth or combing his hair. His main concern was that he had his bag of crack rocks, his pipe and his lighter. And of course his trusty Colt .45 automatic. He shoved the pistol down in his waist band and the dope, pipe and lighter into his pocket, then headed for the door.
He stepped out into the garage and looked at his father’s red and white ‘65 Corvette Stingray, and his mother’s brand new Acura Legend. He smiled, guess they’re mine now. They won’t be needing them where they are. Hell has no highways! He laughed loudly, went to his pickup and got in.
He looked in the mirror at himself and smiled largely. He punched a button on the remote garage door opener and waited for the door to open. He backed out and closed the door, then drove off down the street, his mind set on his mission.
He turned the volume up on the radio and listened to his favorite recording, himself singing ‘Friends In Low Places’, a song made famous by Garth Brooks in the early ‘90s. Danny’s version wouldn’t have been played on the radio if it were the last recording on earth. Unless the show was a comedy benefit. If that were the case Danny would have been in the running for first place. He sang along perfectly with the rendition.
At a red light a cop turned in behind him. He tensed and drove extra carefully. After six blocks the cop turned off and Danny breathed a sigh of relief. His heart beat heavily in his temples and he breathed shallowly, his mouth dry and hungry for more of the mellowing smoke. He drove into a shopping center parking lot and fed the dragon.
Just Beyond the Curve Page 20