by S. W. Lauden
She sounded like a little league team mom. Chris responded right away, the most animated he’d been in weeks.
“This is going to be so awesome.”
“That’s the spirit, Sparky. Now show me your gear so I can see what I’ve gotten myself into.”
There it was. Chris already had a nickname before they’d even played their first show of the tour. Greg let her wander around the room cataloguing equipment with the rest of the band while he stepped outside for some fresh air. It was too early to know for sure, but something about her energy made it seem like things were finally coming together. He rolled the metal door down to give himself some space.
Greg was too deep in thought to notice the kid in the blue hat leaning against the El Camino’s fender. He immediately broke into a sprint, inexplicably drawn to whatever roadblock the universe tried to throw at him now. The kid didn’t budge, keeping his cool as Greg barreled toward him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve got my reasons. Surprised to see me?”
Greg clenched his fists, shifting from foot to foot. He wanted so badly to throw the first punch, but decided to take the high road. It’s the least he could do considering everything he’d put this kid through. But he didn’t have to be nice about it.
“Not really, since you’ve been following me around like some kind of stalker.”
“I thought you saw me at the beach. I had a few things I wanted to say to you, but I couldn’t find the right time.”
“Until today.”
The kid rolled his shoulders, working up to something big.
“Rumor has it you’re leaving soon, so it’s now or never.”
“I’m all ears.”
The kid stood. Greg leapt back, ready for a blow that never came.
“Chill out. I’m telling you, it ain’t like that this time.”
The edge returned to his voice, but only for an instant. It wasn’t lost on Greg that the kid hadn’t called him ‘Pig’ yet. He took it as a good sign, but didn’t let his guard down. The kid took a deep breath, preparing himself to get something off his chest.
“Listen up. I owe you an apology for the stupid shit I said when you came to see me at Juvie last year. Those were my brother Manny’s words, not mine.”
Greg didn’t buy it. At least not yet.
“What’s changed?”
“I got into a program. They’re training me how to cook, like in a restaurant and shit. It’s legit.”
Greg winced.
“Sorry if the image of you with a butcher’s knife doesn’t put my mind at ease.”
The kid kicked at the ground while looking up at the evening sky. Greg almost felt sorry for him, but knew he was holding something back. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, practically bursting through his teeth.
“Manny’s dead. I’m not fighting his battles for him anymore.”
Greg felt all of the angry energy leave his body. He was like a little kid who just discovered the monsters under his bed aren’t real. Monsters Greg didn’t even realize he was still scared of.
“When?”
“Last week, in a prison fight. I know I said this wasn’t over between us, but I was wrong. It’s over now, or at least it is for me.”
Chapter 10
Greg got up before the sun the next morning. Kristen lay twisted in the sheets beside him; her naked body a pleasant reminder of the night before. They’d talked for more than an hour after he got home from practice, with her laying it all on the line. Greg never considered how hard it must be for her, watching him wander off to his next adventure so soon after the one that brought them together. He was too worried about making a living to realize she felt left behind, stranded with their child in the expanding backstory of his life.
He lay there the next morning thinking about everything she’d said. Greg wondered if he would ever be as honest with her as she’d been with him. Would there come a time to tell her he’d fallen off the wagon, or how jealous he was about Marco and Gabriella? He had his doubts, but for now everything seemed fine between them. That would have to be enough, at least until he got back home.
Greg ran his fingertips through her hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Their son stirred in the nursery, either in need of a new diaper or something to eat. He slipped into his boxers and T-shirt and went in to help him. The kid took one look at his father’s face and broke out into a massive, reflexive smile. Greg scooped the boy up, taking him into the kitchen to make coffee.
He had about an hour to kill before meeting the rest of the band down at the beach. There weren’t many BCC traditions that survived the twenty-year hiatus, but surfing together on the morning they left on tour was one of them. Greg actually looked forward to it since he hadn’t been getting out in the water very much these days. He turned the TV on to try and catch the surf report, finding a goofy morning talk show instead. The chipper cohost was interviewing Tommy Thompson who wore a tailored sport coat over a white Oxford shirt and high-end blue jeans. He looked nothing like the person Greg thought he’d gotten to know.
“Congratulations on the success of your bestseller, Among the Grizzlies! Why do you think this book has gotten so popular?”
“Thanks. I honestly have no idea why people seem to be gravitating to this story, except it’s so raw and real. I’m just the one collecting all the information and putting it down on the page, but the people I’m writing about are truly fascinating.”
“Like Magnus Ursus? Am I even saying that correctly?”
“Magnus was definitely a tragic character. So flawed and given to fits of unbelievable rage, but there was something else going on underneath all of that. I don’t expect to ever meet another person quite like him. Or, at least I hope not.”
“How about the punk rock cop? Oh, what’s his name—Greg Salem! I read you two actually became friends during the events in your book.”
“We definitely did. His story and those of his friends and family are the ones I get the most questions about. I think people can really relate to what he’s been through and the tough choices he’s had to make to get where he is today.”
“Which is on tour with his old band, right?”
“Yep. Bad Citizen Corporation. I believe they start their tour tomorrow, in Santa Barbara. Don’t quote me on that.”
“Amazing. Do you two still keep in touch?”
“We do. Spoke with him yesterday, as a matter of fact.”
Greg reached for the remote, killing the TV. Tommy almost had him fooled there for a minute until he let his real colors shine through at the end. Nobody else on the planet would have caught his little white lie—“Spoke with him yesterday…”—but Greg did, and that’s what mattered most.
He carried his sleeping son into the bedroom, intending to lay him in bed with Kristen, but found her awake. She pulled back the sheets when he walked in, motioning for him to put the baby back down in his crib. Greg returned a few seconds later, peeling off his clothes, to join his wife. The rest of the band would have to wait.
h
It was a crisp morning out on the beach. The sun was up, but it was a few degrees cooler than normal for this time of year. Greg trotted across the cold sand with his wetsuit on and a small surfboard tucked under his arm. He found Jerry and Tina first, up near the lifeguard tower. They were both wearing jeans and sweatshirts with their hoods pulled up. Jerry had his cinched tight around his beer-bloated face, a lit cigarette jabbing out from between thin lips. It didn’t look like either of them had slept much, causing Greg to wonder if the label had accidentally hired a couple to come on tour with BCC.
“Glad you guys made it. Sure I can’t convince you to paddle out with us? I’ve got more boards up at the house.”
Tina smiled, waving her phone at him.
“I’m just here to take picture
s.”
Jerry growled something indecipherable, but it didn’t sound pleasant. Greg let it go, heading down to the shoreline where JJ waited.
“I thought you were blowing us off.”
“Sorry. I was on daddy duty. Where’s everybody else?”
JJ nodded to a set of head-high waves breaking in the distance.
“Chris couldn’t wait, so he got right in. I haven’t seen Marco yet.”
“You’re his roommate.”
“I took a shift at Eddie’s last night, to make a little extra cash. He was already crashed out when I got home, and gone when I woke up this morning. I thought he’d be down here with you.”
Greg sat down on the sand, wrapping the cuff of the surfboard leash around his ankle. He stood up and took a couple of tentative steps into the cold water.
“You ready? Not much time before we have to get on the road.”
Greg knew JJ wasn’t a big surfer, but he’d never missed one of these BCC pre-tour rituals. Not even when he was too strung out to take a shower for days at a time. JJ’s dedication to the band always impressed Greg, even when everything else about his bassist drove him up a wall.
The two of them pushed their boards out into the whitewash, climbing on when the water got deep enough to paddle. They’d almost reached Chris when he caught a wave, nearly decapitating JJ with the fin of his board as he swooped by. Greg and Chris were both laughing when JJ reemerged a few seconds later, a horrified look on his face.
“Very funny, guys. Not smart to drown your bassist before the first show.”
Greg couldn’t hold back. Picking on JJ was another one of his favorite BCC tour traditions.
“That’s okay, JJ. We never turn your amp on anyway. You’re only in the band because of your good looks.”
Chris continued chuckling as he paddled out to catch another ride. Greg was a few feet behind him, while JJ seemed content to bob on his board until somebody else said it was time to go in.
Chris went up and over a few shapeless mountains of water before straddling his board between sets. Greg caught up to him, taking the moment to check in on his young guitarist.
“You excited?”
“Hell yeah, but I’m a little bummed my mom has to come.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ll make sure she gives you some space. Besides, it’ll be like having your own personal roadie while the rest of us have to buy our own food and do our own laundry.”
“Nobody said anything about doing laundry on tour.”
Greg smiled.
“I guess I was kind of reaching with that one, but you get my point. You’ll still have plenty of fun. Anything else on your mind?”
Chris shrugged, a sure sign that something was bothering a teenager. Greg gave him a moment to spit it out, pressing the issue when Chris went quiet.
“You got something to say, you should say it now. There’s no such thing as a private conversation once we’re in the van.”
“I don’t know. I mean, what do you think about Jerry?”
Now Greg shrugged, a sure sign that a middle-aged beach bum was about to drop some wisdom on you.
“I think Jerry’s a hired gun, but you’re in the band. So you’re basically his boss. Remember that the next time he’s giving you shit. Just don’t ever tell him I said that or the record label will be pissed at me. Cool?”
“Cool. Where’s Marco?”
“No idea. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Chris spotted a wave forming on the horizon, paddling out to meet it. Greg did the same, catching the one right behind it. He carved his way for shore, spotting Marco up on the sand. There was somebody standing right beside him, holding his hand. Greg rode the wave all the way in, unleashed himself and jogged straight for his drummer.
“Good to see you, Marco. Can I have a word?”
“Totally, bro.”
He turned around to face Gabriella, giving her a kiss on the lips.
“Wait here with Tina and Jerry, baby. I’ll be right back.”
Marco seemed oblivious to what Greg might want to talk about, but not for long. They were barely out of earshot when Greg laid into him.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
Marco looked over at Gabriella and back at Greg, realization slowly dawning behind his puppy-dog eyes.
“She showed up at my place last night after practice. It was a total surprise.”
“She’s wanted in connection with a murder case.”
“No way, dude. She didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“I know that’s what you want to believe, but the only thing that matters is Detective Bowers’ opinion.”
“That’s what I’m saying, bro. She was on stage at a warehouse show downtown when the murders happened. There were cameras and everything. She cleared it with BCPD yesterday afternoon, before she crashed at my pad.”
Greg wasn’t convinced, and did a terrible job hiding it. Marco threw his hands up in surrender.
“Fine. Ask her yourself.”
Marco waved Gabriella over. The look on her face made it clear she wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated again. Greg took his chances. He waited for Marco to give them some space before launching into her.
“Marco says you have an alibi for the murders.”
“Excuse me? Last I checked you weren’t a cop any more. And why don’t you show me a little respect, I’m in mourning.”
Greg swallowed a laugh, in case she was serious. Gabriella wasn’t an easy read on the best days, much less a couple days after her husband was brutally murdered; no matter how much she seemed to resent him and all of his success.
“Sorry for your loss. Marco said you were lucky enough to get out of the house before the—before everything happened.”
“I was only there for like ten minutes to get some clothes and make-up together. If I knew Marco was waiting for me out front I wouldn’t have taken one of Tony’s cars. The garages are out near the service entrance in the back alley.”
“So, where’d you go?”
“I was rapping at a private party downtown, but that’s none of your damn business. The important thing is the security cameras showed me leaving way before that whole mess.”
“And now you’re back here hanging out with Marco?”
She looked over at his drummer with something approaching admiration on her face. Or maybe she had a thing for middle-aged punk musicians without a penny to their name.
“He’s like a tiny rescue dog. A scrawny little Chihuahua.”
Greg had never heard a more accurate description of his friend, but it didn’t get him any closer to understanding what this hip-hop bombshell saw in him. He was concerned that all of this might really be about his own jealousy. Greg had done many terrifying things in his life, but he’d never lost out on a girl to Marco.
Maybe there was first time for everything.
“You’re not coming on tour with us. The van’s full.”
She flipped her hair back with the tips of her painted nails, rolling her eyes like a teenaged girl.
“Get over yourself. I’m about to be filthy rich. I could fly a private jet to your lame ass shows if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
She was right, and he knew it. It only made him want to ask more questions about what she was doing with Marco, and a few about whether or not Tony Flores put a prenuptial agreement in place.
h
Greg had one more stop to make before they climbed in the van to leave. Officer Bob handwrote the note Detective Bowers gave him at the station. It explained where Greg could find his old nemesis, and asked him to stop by when he had a chance. Greg thought it could wait until after the tour, but then he looked up the address.
The Dickies plowed through “Fan Mail” as he pulled the El Camino into th
e Specialty Cancer Treatment facility’s parking lot. He left the engine running to let the song play out. Part of him wanted to throw the car into reverse and get the hell out of there, but knew it wasn’t an option. Time was running short if he wanted to say goodbye. He had to remind himself that whatever happened on the tour, it was much worse for Officer Bob than it was for him.
He twisted the key, making his way to the front desk. The woman seated there asked him to sign in while she dialed a nurse to escort him inside. Soft piano music wafted from the speakers to match the neutral orange lighting in the waiting room. A small stone fountain burbled gently in one corner. The whole scene made Greg’s skin crawl.
His wait was mercifully short. A young man with an intentionally calm voice led him through the security doors and down a long, tiled hallway. Framed posters on the wall featured grainy images of distant sunsets, each accompanied by a life-affirming quote.
They entered a small guest room where Officer Bob sat at a wooden table. He looked up and smiled when Greg walked in, taking the chair next to him. The nurse told them they had an hour before backing out, shutting the door behind him. Greg wasn’t sure what to expect from this visit, so he let Officer Bob make the first move.
“I’m surprised Bowers gave you my note.”
“Me too. How long have you known?”
Greg studied his face. He didn’t look any better or worse than the last time they’d seen each other; just an older version of the man Greg had known for most of his life. Except for the persistent, weak cough dotting his sentences.
“Got the diagnosis last year. Thought I beat it, but then the cancer spread. I’m stuck here until they can figure out how bad it is—or the insurance money runs out. Whichever comes first.”
Greg felt the air being crushed from his lungs.
“I’m not really sure what to say…”
“I just thought we should see each other one more time, in case something drastic happens while you’re out of town.”
“What about your wife?”
Greg felt funny asking the question, since he didn’t even know her name.
“She’s nearby. Hasn’t really left my side in weeks. Not sure I’d go through with any of this if it wasn’t for her.”
