Pure Iron

by Bargo, Holly

  “Just don’t hurt your golden fingers.”

  Kris flipped him off. Jack just laughed, grabbed a beer, and headed out to the side lot where a crowd of eager, scantily dressed fans waited. He’d work off his nervous energy before the concert and one more slut would get bragging rights to having had wild monkey sex with a rock star.

  “Crazy fucker,” Kris muttered.

  Davis joined him a short while later. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Kris replied, his head leaned back and his eyes closed.

  “Where’s Jack?”

  Kris shrugged. “Dunno. Since he’s been banned from taking his casual fucks in the bus, he just goes elsewhere. You might want to look in the restroom.”

  Davis shuddered with distaste. “Catch him there, did you?”

  “A couple weeks ago. I wanted to soak my eyeballs in bleach.”

  “You? You’re as bad as Jack.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “She got to you, too, huh?”

  Kris heaved a sigh. “She makes me want to be a better man.”

  “That’s a good thing, Kris,” Davis said approvingly. “But you’ve got to remember that she belongs to Mick.”

  “I know and it’s killing me. God, what I’d give to have someone like her look at me the way she looks at him.”

  “But then you’d have to look at her the way Mick does.”

  Kris licked the tip of his index finger and lazily drew a vertical line in the air to signal a point in Davis’ favor. Davis’ full lips stretched in a small smile. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, popped it open, and took a long, refreshing swig.

  Angelo poked his head into the bus. “We’ve been called in to do our sound check. Get a move-on.”

  With a grunt, Kris heaved himself upright.

  “Have you seen Jack? He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Check the men’s room,” Kris said.

  Angelo grimaced. “Oh, God, again?”

  “Man’s gonna pick up some ugly germs one day that’ll rot his dick off,” Davis predicted.

  “He’s either chasing something or running away from something,” Angelo said. “One of these days, he’ll tell us. Until then …”

  “Until then, we’ll just have to live with the ultimate man-whore,” Kris finished the thought.

  Angelo raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are calling Jack a man-whore.”

  “He’s reformed, more or less,” Davis said.

  “I’m going with less,” Angelo quipped. “Hey, would one of you run Mick down? I’ll go find Jack and make sure he yanks his pants back up.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Kris said and followed Angelo outside.

  Sounds coming from a utility closet marked “employees only” alerted Angelo to the occupants within. He banged on the door and shouted, “Finish up, Jack! You’re needed for sound check!”

  “Got it!” Jack shouted back and quickly finished. He pulled out of the young woman whose name he’d not bothered to learn.

  “Hey!” she complained loudly.

  “Gotta go, sugar,” he said as he pulled off the condom and toss it aside. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up.

  “Hey!” she yelled more loudly. “Aren’t you coming back?”

  “Nope,” he replied and wiped his moist, sticky hands on the front of his denim clad legs. He’d find a place to wash them later.

  The woman’s profane curses followed him out.

  In less than a minute, he had forgotten her face and in another minute he would not even remember the color of her hair. As far as he was concerned, she was as disposable as the condom.

  “Feel better now?” Angelo asked snidely.

  Jack rolled his shoulders and said, “Yep, nice and relaxed.”

  Angelo shook his head at his fellow musician’s utter lack of remorse and said, “There’s a bathroom on the way. Wash your hands at least before touching anything that anyone else might touch.”

  Jack nodded and whistled tunelessly as they walked. He darted into a public restroom to clean up a little and emerged a moment later. Angelo waited for him just in case Jack found a woman in there and decided it was necessary to fuck that one, too.

  “I see you found him,” Mick commented when they joined him, Kris, and Davis on the stage.

  “He was indulging in a bit of pre-concert mood enhancement,” Angelo replied dryly.

  Jack shrugged and said, “Hey, it works.” He walked over to his keyboard, checked the connections, and tickled the ivories. Sound rippled through the speakers.

  “Keyboard’s up to spec,” he said.

  The other band members each tested instruments separately, then they played a few bars together to ensure that the sounds meshed as they should. After a few minute adjustments, they were finally satisfied.

  Candace walked onto the stage and, seeing that they weren’t goofing off, nodded approvingly. “You guys ready?” she asked.

  “As ever,” Jack replied.

  “You have your set list?”

  “Yes,” Mick replied. “We’re taking out Rise to Me and replacing that with Diamonds in Your Smile.”

  “Diamonds is your newest song, right?” she confirmed.

  “Yes, it’s a stronger song and a good segue between Wet Smoke and Kill Me Softly.”

  She made a notation on her tablet. Exhaling, she marshalled her thoughts and said, “Jet Fueled won’t be opening for you guys tonight. Apparently, Jet had something of a breakdown and is lying catatonic in the band’s tour bus. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

  The five men denied any knowledge of the singer’s distress.

  “Is there a backup band to open?” Kris inquired.

  “No, we haven’t been able to get anyone at such short notice,” Candace said. She glanced at her tablet. “Jet Fueled was to have a thirty minute set. Can you guys play an extra half hour tonight? We’ll just zoom in to the main act and bypass the opening band entirely.”

  “We’ll manage,” Mick said and hoped the calluses on his fingers would withstand two solid hours of strumming.

  After a few more instructions from Candace, the men wandered off to relax or do whatever they needed to prepare for the concert that evening. Mick and Davis returned to the bus to revise the set list.

  “Hey, can I get a hand with these groceries?” Sonia’s voice called into the bus. The two men glanced at the time, mildly surprised to note how much time had passed. They trooped outside to assist with unloading the roadie’s SUV and carrying in clean laundry and groceries.

  “What’s with the glum expression?” she asked.

  “The opening band can’t play,” Davis answered. “And Candace hasn’t been able to find another band to substitute.”

  Sonia thought on that for a moment and then said slowly, “Late summer is festival and county fair season. Most of these events have live music. Is there a fair going on near here? Maybe a band booked for tomorrow night has already arrived and would be willing to open for you guys.”

  “Wouldn’t those be country music bands?”

  “Not necessarily. Does it matter?”

  “It may not,” Mick said slowly. He pulled out his phone can called Candace to offer Sonia’s suggestion.

  “That’s not altogether a bad idea,” Candace praised. “I’ll get right on it.”

  She fired up her tablet again, connected to the internet, and began researching county fair and festival information for the region. She found three fairs and five festivals all within one hundred miles of their location. And she began to making phone calls. On the sixth call she struck gold.

  “We’ve got a battle of the bands competition going on tonight,” one festival organizer said. “If you don’t mind opening with local talent, I’ll see if any of our contestants are willing to forego the competition for certain cash. How much are you offering?”

  She told him. He laughed and said, “That’s a little more than they’d get
if they won the competition.”

  “We’d prefer a rock band if you have one in the lineup,” she said. “Hard rock. The band will be opening for Iron Falcon.”

  “I’ll check around and call you back,” the man promised.

  Twenty minutes later, he called back. “I’ve got a band for you. They’re young, high school teens, really. Word is they’re pretty damn good. And they’re willing to drop out of the competition, drive eighty miles, and play tonight for you.”

  “Send them out. They’ll get their thirty minutes of fame.”

  “They’re on their way.”

  “We’ve got an opening band!” Candace shouted in triumph. She sent a quick text to the members of Iron Falcon to inform them.

  “We’re cutting it fine,” Mick said to Davis. “Perhaps we should inform the attendees that we’ll be starting a little late.”

  “Technical difficulties?” Davis suggested with a raised eyebrow.

  Mick chuckled and shrugged. “Best we have that set list revised just in case.”

  Jack, Angelo, and Kris trooped into the bus.

  “You summoned?” Angelo prompted.

  “Yeah, Davis and I have put together Plan C if our opening band doesn’t get here in good time,” Mick replied.

  “Let’s see it,” Jack said and held out his hand.

  Davis handed over the sheet of paper and the three other men reviewed.

  “Looks good to me,” Kris said.

  “What if this new band just sucks?” Jack said. “We’ll need to cut them short and adjust on the fly.”

  “If they’re good, we can stick with the original set list. If we cut ‘em at fifteen minutes, then we’ll just eliminate the first four songs on the revised list.”

  “That would have us at Pure,” Angelo murmured.

  “Are we set, guys?”

  Affirmative nods answered. With little to do but wait, the five men each memorized the revised set list, snacked, played cards, conversed, and changed into the clothes they would wear for the concert. As one, each band member donned his iron falcon pendant. Cell phones beeped, buzzed, or vibrated when Candace’s text message came through that their opening band had arrived.

  “Let’s go greet our newcomers,” Mick said as Kris settled his leather cuffs in place.

  With the heavy clomp of boots, the men filed out of the bus and walked toward the third-hand white truck being unloaded.

  “I’ll see you backstage in a bit,” Sonia called after them.

  Jack called over a few roadies to help the boys unload and set up.

  “Hello there,” Mick greeted the boys who wore matching red tee shirts and red high top sneakers.

  The boys turned around and gaped. Mick extended a hand to the nearest one, who took it with an expression of awe.

  “I’m Mick. We’re really grateful you guy agreed to pinch hit for the opener. Why don’t you let the roadies help get you set up? They’re old pros at this.”

  “Wow! This is just so amazing,” gushed the boy whose hand Mick had shaken.

  “Hi, guys, I’m Jack. Can you tell me what tunes you’ll be playing tonight?”

  One of the boys blushed and admitted they had originally planned on playing an Iron Falcon song in the competition. “But we can’t do that now,” he rushed. “But it’s okay, because we have other stuff we can play.”

  “Do you mind if we see your set list?”

  “Uh, sure,” the boy stammered. He turned around and said, “Gary, do you have the list of songs we decided to play?”

  “Sure,” a pimply faced blond said and pulled out his cell phone. A few swipes of his thumb brought up the typed list. He held it out to Mick.

  Mick quickly scanned the tunes, noting that a couple of the songs were ones that took real skill to play well. He hoped the boys had the confidence to execute them well.

  “You guy like Eagles’ tunes,” he commented in a neutral tone.

  “Yeah, and Eric Clapton’s stuff, too.”

  “And Santana,” a third boy piped up.

  “Well, we’re grateful you could make it,” Jack said. “You’d better head on over to the stage.” He pointed in that direction. “There’s a woman in a pink shirt and gray skirt. That’s Candace. She’s the tour manager and she’ll see that you all are taken care of.”

  “Thanks, Jack!”

  The boys rushed off, following the roadies transporting their equipment.

  “God, were we ever that young?” Davis asked with bemusement.

  “You never were,” Mick answered. “I’m not so sure I was, either.”

  “Angelo still is,” Davis quipped.

  “Hey!”

  The band walked to the concert hall and watched as the high school boys arranged themselves and their instruments. Candace spoke quietly to them, soothing their anxiety with her calm, cool manner, and getting a brief biography of the young band.

  “Are you ready?” she asked them.

  “Yes,” they replied as one, their eyes sparkling with infectious excitement.

  “Okay,” she said. “We’ll have some housekeeping announcements, then we’ll introduce you. What’s your band called again? Virago?”

  “Yeah, we’re Virago.”

  “Good. All right, once you’re introduced, you can begin playing. Keep the patter to a minimum. The people out there have paid to listen to music, so that’s what we’ll give them.”

  The boys nodded eagerly.

  “You’ve got thirty minutes. She pointed toward the back of the concert hall. “There’s an amber light that will flash when you’re down to your last five minutes. A red light will flash when it’s time to wrap up and leave the stage.”

  They nodded again.

  “Whatever you do, don’t play any Iron Falcon songs.”

  “No, ma’am. We won’t.”

  She nodded. “At the end of your set, the curtain will come down and the roadies will remove your instruments. You are welcome to go to the dressing room. There are some refreshments set out for everyone. I’ll be by with payment for your performance. Any questions?”

  “Um, where’s the bathroom?”

  Taking care not to embarrass the young man, Candace pointed him correct direction. She glanced at her watch. “You’ve got six minutes. Make it snappy, guys.”

  The boys all trooped past Iron Falcon toward the bathroom where they took care of business. They had two minutes to spare as they walked onstage. Lights switched on and off and the announcer welcomed the concert goers. Cheers and applause rose in joyful cacophony. The announcer informed concert patrons that the originally scheduled opening band unfortunately had to cancel due to the singer’s health concerns. He enjoined the crowd to give a warm welcome to Virago.

  The audience’s response wasn’t, perhaps, as enthusiastic as the boys might have wished, but they bowed and accepted the polite applause as their due. The drummer counted off and the music began. Waiting in the wings, Mick and Jack exchanged glances.

  “They’re pretty good,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, they are. We’re looking at our competition.”

  “Maybe in few years. They’ve still in high school.”

  Mick raised an eyebrow and did not mention the teenage bands that had hit it big before reaching adulthood. Of course, most of them had flared like comets and then crashed and burned a short time later.

  Half an hour later, the boys left the stage grinning widely and practically vibrating with excitement. The roadies quickly replace the boys’ equipment with Iron Falcon’s. The announcer called for Iron Falcon to take the stage and the audience went wild. That’s what they had come to see. Mick glanced back and did not see Sonia waiting in the wings. He frowned slightly, but it was too late to go chasing after her. The curtain rose and he lost himself in the music.

  Chapter 16

  She paused, silent and stealthy, and watched from the step as Mick Hendriksen’s goody two-shoes wife slid a stupid casserole into the kitchenette’s small oven. A fucking cass
erole. Like she was a 1950s housewife. A pot simmered on the range, fragrant steam curling upward. The complacent, stupid woman never noticed her attacker’s presence until something hard crashed against her skull.

  She looked down at the woman crumpled on the floor, thick blood pooling under her head.

  “He’s mine, you bitch,” she hissed at the unconscious woman.

  Then she left, body vibrating with adrenaline and excitement. The black leather clothes she wore helped her blend into the darkness and aided in her escape. With almost frantic intensity, she roused her driver and band mates.

  “The fuckers replaced us,” she snarled. “Why are we even here? Get going. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

  Rather than endure another of her maniacal temper tantrums, the men obeyed and the worn tour bus lumbered from the parking lot to the highway and beyond. Meanwhile, the pot on the stovetop boiled dry and its contents ignited.

  A group of college aged young women dressed in cheek-baring shorts and barely there tops sneaked around the back of the building and found a dark spot near the trash receptacles where security personnel infrequently patrolled. They giggled and whispered encouragement and boasts of future conquests as they darted past security patrols and headed for the Iron Falcon tour bus.

  The four young women wondered about the bus’ open door, but none quite had the courage to venture inside.

  “What’s that weird light?” one of them asked.

  “What weird light?”

  “From inside the bus. There’s an orangey light flickering.”

  One of the girls gasped and darted forward, peered inside, and screamed. The noise brought a handful of roadies and security personnel running. They immediately started hustling the girls away.

  “The bus is on fire!” the young woman shrilled.

  The men paused in their effort to remove the four young women. Sure enough, the bus was on fire. Smoke poured from the open door.

  “Is anyone in there?” one of the men had the presence to ask while another dialed 911 to summon professional firefighting assistance.

  “I—I don’t know,” the young woman replied.

  Jogging as best she could in her high heels, the Iron Falcon tour manager approached. Her eyes were dark with worry. “Has anyone seen Sonia? She’s not backstage. And where’s the Jet Fueled bus?”