Hang Time

by S. W. Lauden

  Officer Bob put his hands down on the table, slowly pushing himself up. Greg could see now he was much thinner than before, his clothes hanging from him like secondhand rags. He stood up to help, but Officer Bob waved him off. He shuffled over to the bed to lay down.

  “I get dizzy all the time now. I’m so exhausted from all the medication they’re giving me.”

  “Should I go?”

  “No. Pull a chair over here. I won’t keep you too long.”

  Greg slid over, suddenly sensitive to every little noise he made.

  “I can stay as long as you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  Officer Bob closed his eyes. His breathing got shallow. Greg thought the old man might have fallen asleep. He stood up to leave, but didn’t get far.

  “Have you talked with Bowers again about what happened at Eddie’s?”

  “More listening than talking, but yes. I was at his office yesterday.”

  “Be careful with him. He’s not a laid-back local like us. And he seems to have a real hard-on for you.”

  “Then why hire him?”

  “Not my choice. I’m just handing off the reins. But he needs your help with this case, even if he won’t admit it. He doesn’t know this town the way you do. Doesn’t understand the people around here.”

  “He’s already made up his mind, far as I can tell. Seems to think a lot like you.”

  Greg felt like a coward taking such a cheap shot, but he couldn’t help himself. The true nature of their relationship revealed, adversarial until the bitter end. Officer Bob brought his forearm up to rest on his head.

  “Do you remember the day of your brother’s funeral?”

  Greg sat down again, shifting to get comfortable.

  “Some of it.” Greg was relieved to see him smile, weak as it was. “Why?”

  “We got a call at the station about a bar fight. I knew it was you right away.”

  “Me against a couple of bouncers? Not much of a fight.”

  “I remember pulling up outside and watching you fly through the front door. That was the first time I ever saw you drunk.”

  “It was the first time I ever got drunk.”

  Greg felt nauseous reliving that day. Those bouncers worked him over pretty good before they got tired of toying around. He might have been buried right alongside Tim if Officer Bob hadn’t shown up when he did.

  “I’m still surprised you didn’t arrest me.”

  “You’d rather have been in jail than at the church. I thought you’d regret that decision.”

  Greg tried to force a laugh, coming up blank.

  “You were probably right.”

  “You said something to me, when I drove you home to get cleaned up. Do you remember?”

  “Not exactly. No.”

  “You told me you would never forgive me for ruling Tim’s death a suicide.”

  “I was just an angry kid. None of it made sense to me. It still doesn’t.”

  Officer Bob opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Greg.

  “I wonder if you ever realized that I’m not the one you needed to forgive?”

  Chapter 11

  In Greg’s mind, the drive from The Bay Cities to downtown Santa Barbara should be all coastline. The reality was more like sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 405 freeway before crawling through the San Fernando Valley on the 101. It used to be they could step on the gas once they were past Woodland Hills, but a new housing development sprang up a little further north every year. Even the once remote canyons were overrun by soccer moms dropping their kids off at over-priced private schools in the drought-choked, piss-yellow hills.

  Greg couldn’t believe his eyes. The winding grade that dropped northbound traffic down into Oxnard from Thousand Oaks was lined with outlet malls and business parks. He looked out the van’s passenger window, trying to figure out when exactly all of these new neighborhoods were built. He’d driven this route plenty of times over the years, either on his way up to surf Rincon or for camping trips at El Capitan State Beach, but he’d never paid much attention to the sprawl. Even Ventura became a desirable beach community when he wasn’t looking.

  With JJ behind the wheel, Greg was free to explore his thoughts. They were less than a hundred miles north of home, but he could already feel the tour working its magic on his mind. He turned around to take a look at the rest of the crew in the fifteen-passenger van, impressed by the assembled misfits. Chris sat in the row right behind JJ with Junior beside him. They both had buds tucked into their ears, attempting to give each other space while sitting inches apart.

  Jerry, Tina, and Marco were holding down the third row. Jerry still had his hoodie on, dead asleep and oblivious that his head rattled against the window. Tina was on her laptop and connected to the van’s mobile hotspot, searching for cheap motels, reviewing contracts, and trying to find the quickest route between venues to save gas. One of her main jobs as the tour manager was to always find ways to cut corners and, from the looks of things, she took it pretty seriously. Marco was next to her, staring off into space. Greg guessed he was reliving whatever memories Gabriella bestowed on him the previous night.

  Suitcases, backpacks, and other personal effects filled the last row. All of the actual gear—guitars, amps, and drums—were locked up in the trailer they towed. The only thing missing were roadies, but Greg decided they could live without them on such a short tour. For one thing, roadies didn’t come cheap. And for another, they were some of the vilest animals on the planet with built-in divining rods for finding cocaine and other kinds of trouble. He thought he’d spare Chris the exposure to that side of the music business for as long as he could—even if it meant setting up and breaking down their own gear for a week-and-a-half. The money they saved allowed them to get their own motel rooms, an indulgence Greg had never experienced as a young man.

  He turned back to look out the windshield. Something about the mind-numbing velocity of road life cleared his head. For the next couple of weeks, his job had nothing to do with tailing cheating spouses or cleaning up messes for the local police. It felt good for the moment to pretend like this would be his new life, just going up on stage to perform. Things were stable between Kristen and him, at least for now; he and Marco didn’t have any open cases waiting for them at home, and it looked like money might not be as big a problem in the near future.

  The sense of calm inside of him was short-lived. Greg’s thoughts soon turned to the dead kid at Eddie’s. Even thinking about Detective Bowers’ words—“copycat suicide”—made him feel queasy. Not only because it meant the BCPD were taking the easy way out on yet another case, but because it reinforced all of their faulty conclusions about Tim’s death. Conclusions reached by a man who was fighting for his own life back in The Bay Cities. Greg replayed their last conversation in his mind, trying to figure out what Officer Bob meant when he talked about forgiveness. The more Greg chewed on the riddle, the angrier he got. Nobody deserved forgiveness the way he felt these days.

  He looked up a while later, surprised to see they were only twenty miles away from Santa Barbara’s State Street exit. That gave them plenty of time to check into their motel before heading over to the club for sound check. It was starting to feel like touring when you’re older meant cutting down on the unnecessary bullshit. If all the drives are this easy, I might book a few more shows before we make the record.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “I have to take a dump.”

  “Come on, Marco. Hold it. We’ll be at the motel in fifteen minutes.”

  “No dice, dude. I’ve been holding it since Camarillo. We have to pull over.”

  JJ flipped the blinker in response, merging to take the next off-ramp. The sudden deceleration brought everybody out of their van-induced stupor. Chris leaned forward to look out the front window.

 
“Where are we?”

  “A little south of Santa Barbara. We’re making a quick pit stop, then getting right back on the freeway.”

  “Cool. You think there’s a Starbucks around here?”

  “We’ll get coffee at the motel. You probably shouldn’t even leave the van.”

  Junior leaned in to join the conversation.

  “I’ll just grab a quick snack while Marco’s in the bathroom. I was so stressed out about packing this morning that I totally forgot to eat.”

  “They’ll have food at the club. We’re only going to be here for a couple of minutes, tops. Right, Tina?”

  Greg was looking for backup. He hoped an experienced tour manager would be able to provide it. She didn’t disappoint.

  “Everybody listen up. We’re stopping for five minutes. Don’t wander too far away from the van.”

  Greg leaned back in his chair, relieved somebody else took charge of the situation—until he heard Jerry’s sleep-thick voice.

  “I need a new lighter and a pack of smokes.”

  JJ hit a red light at the bottom of the ramp. He craned his neck to the left and right, looking for a gas station or fast food restaurant. There was nothing immediately in view, so Tina jumped on her phone to start searching.

  “Says there’s a Gas Mart four miles that way.”

  She pointed to her right. Greg couldn’t believe his ears. In all his time on the road, he’d always made it a rule to only stop if you could see the signs from the freeway.

  “I don’t know, you guys. Four miles could take forever. And who knows if they even have a public bathroom. Let’s gun it for the motel.”

  Marco leaned back, panting.

  “I’m turtling, bro. We need to find a bathroom right now!”

  Tina scooted a few inches away from Marco while Jerry howled with laughter. JJ followed Tina’s directions, heading east on a one-lane road winding through the mansions of Montecito. They crawled past several antique shops, a college for photography and design, and a golf store, before they finally saw the gas station fifteen minutes later. JJ brought the van to a stop along a line of pumps and every door flew open.

  Pretty soon, it was only JJ and Greg sitting there.

  “I think we should fill up while we’re here.”

  “Did you check the prices?”

  “Greg, we aren’t little kids any more. I think we can afford to splurge a couple cents a gallon if it means not stopping tomorrow on our way to San Francisco.”

  “Fine. Make sure you keep your receipts.”

  Greg hopped out. He could see Tina and Jerry inside of the gas station’s small convenience mart, but there was no sign of Chris and Junior. He crossed the parking lot, spotting them a block down the street. They were hauling ass for a Starbuck’s sign in the distance. Greg considered taking off without them if they didn’t make it back in time, quickly surmising he would be the loser in that scenario. If worse came to worst, the van could always swing down there to grab them on the way back to the freeway.

  He went inside as Jerry walked out tamping down a fresh pack of cigarettes.

  “Heading back to the van?”

  “After a few puffs.”

  “Okay. See you in a minute.”

  Tina stopped Greg as he made his way to the drink refrigerators.

  “Did you give everybody their per diems?”

  “I thought you had them. You got the cash from the label, right?”

  “Shit. I knew I forgot something. What are we going to do?”

  Greg shoved a hand into his pocket, coming back with four twenties.

  “Use this, but keep track. I don’t want to pay for Jerry’s nicotine habit all tour.”

  “Thanks.”

  She took the money up to the register to have the bills broken into five and ten dollar bills. Greg pulled the glass door open, reaching for an energy drink when he heard a loud flushing sound. Marco came bounding out of the bathroom door right next to him.

  “Close call, bro. I wouldn’t go in there if I was you. Got any cash?”

  “Just like old times. Talk to Tina.”

  Marco disappeared. Greg made his selection, heading back to the counter. He paid for his drink and went out to the van. The gas nozzle was still in the tank, but JJ was gone. Then he smelled a familiar odor he’d come to associate with Jerry.

  Greg set his bag down on the passenger seat, going around the side of the building. Jerry stood there, taking a small pipe out of JJ’s hand. He took one look at Greg and coughed up an enormous plume of smoke.

  “I can explain.”

  “Seriously, JJ? We haven’t even played our first show and you’re already getting high again.”

  “It’s one hit. Calm the fuck down.”

  “Calm down? I don’t give two shits if you’re high all the time from now on. It just means somebody else has to drive.”

  Jerry pulled the pipe from his mouth, revealing a shit-eating grin.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “You’re kind of missing the point. And you’re already on my nerves. Finish up and let’s get out of here.”

  Greg stormed back over to the van, relieved to see Tina and Marco were back in their seats. That only left Chris and Junior unaccounted for. It was another couple of minutes, but JJ and Jerry eventually ambled back over to climb in as well. Greg climbed behind the wheel, double-checking they weren’t about to drive off with the gas pump in the process.

  It took him a second to collect his thoughts.

  “All right. Here’s the plan. We’re going to grab Chris and Junior from Starbuck’s—”

  Jerry leaned forward in his seat.

  “I want Starbuck’s.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Greg turned the key in the ignition, throwing the van into drive. He tried to make eye contact with Jerry in the rearview mirror, but could only see Tina. The look on her face was a mixture of shock and disappointment.

  “What?”

  “I get it, you want to get to the motel. We all do, but you don’t have to be a dick.”

  “Do me favor, Tina. Tell your asshole boyfriend to keep his mouth shut and everything will be fine.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  They were finally starting to move when Marco jumped up.

  “I have to go again.”

  Greg slammed on the brakes.

  “What?!”

  “I can’t help it. My stomach’s all jacked up. Go get Chris and Junior from Starbuck’s, then come back for me.”

  He slid the van door open without waiting for a response. It was barely closed again before Greg stepped on the gas. He could see Chris and Junior making their way up the sidewalk on the right. He pulled over and ordered them to climb in.

  Jerry’s bloodshot eyes stared longingly at their cups before he started whining.

  “Oh, man. I really want Starbuck’s now.”

  Greg ignored him this time, making a mental note to snap his neck when they got to the motel. He was too busy at the moment trying to find a place wide enough to turn around a fifteen-passenger van with a trailer. They had gone several stop lights when he spotted a grocery store parking lot. He wheeled the van in, winding through the maze of tightly packed cars before finding his way to the exit. It was another ten minutes before they finally made it back to the gas station.

  They pulled in along the same line of pumps as last time. There was no sign of Marco. Greg brought his forehead down onto the steering wheel.

  “Fucking perfect!”

  Junior gave him a quick slap across the back of his head.

  “Watch your language. You’ve got a kid in the van.”

  They all knew Junior was the only one who could get away with that, but it seemed to snap Greg out of his manic spiral. He told everybody to stay put and went insid
e to look for their drummer. The bathroom was empty. The clerk behind the counter said the last customer left a few minutes ago. Greg ran out to the sidewalk, easily spotting Marco a mile down the road, shuffling toward the freeway on ramp. He got back behind the wheel, catching up with him in no time.

  Marco climbed in without saying a word. Greg didn’t return the favor.

  “You said we should come back to pick you up at the gas station.”

  “I thought you guys bailed. I was getting ready to hitchhike to the show.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. We wouldn’t leave without you.”

  “Whatever. We should have gone straight to the motel.”

  h

  In the end, they went straight to the club. Traffic was a mess downtown and Greg didn’t want to miss sound check. He thought it would give them one more chance to practice. Nobody said a word as they pulled along the side of the building and filed out. JJ and Marco went straight back to the trailer to start unloading the gear. Greg went around to the front of the building with Tina to see if anybody was in the box office.

  The Noise Chamber was a run-down theater only a few blocks from the beach, tucked between two warehouses along the railroad tracks. The outside of the building was lined with corrugated steel siding painted a splotchy shade of purple. All of the doors were locked tight and every window was painted black from the inside. Greg rang the “Delivery” buzzer over and over while Tina stepped back.

  She tapped Greg on the shoulder, motioning to the marquee.

  “Check it out.”

  He looked up to see what she was pointing at: “Tonight—Bad Citizen Corporation—Sold Out!”

  “Nice. Let’s go around back to see if there’s a stage entrance.”

  They almost did a complete loop around the building before they found the door. It was propped open a couple of inches with a wobbly barstool. Greg plunged straight from the warm Santa Barbara sunshine and into the inky subterranean darkness. It only took a second to get his night vision back, just long enough for Tina to forge ahead without him. He saw the rest of the band up on the stage at the other end of the room. They were already setting up the equipment. He headed that way.