“We’re tired of listening to bands,” said one girl.
“Yeah, it’s getting boring, Man,” said one of the boys.
Even Craig had to admit that the current band, The Orange Peelers, was not that good. But Cindy and her band was up next. They would be the last band of the night. He needed all the kids to stay so they could cheer loudly and persuade Billy-Eye to hire her band.
Just as the kids reached the door, it opened, and four dazzling young women walked in. Each one was wearing a black, tight stretchy T-shirt and shorts, partially covered by a bright orange long-tailed tuxedo coat. The women stood five inches taller than usual in their black and orange high-heeled boots.
Without even speaking to each other, all of the would-be defectors changed their minds and turned to follow the women.
The Orange Peelers finished their last song, and began to pack up their equipment and carry it off the stage.
Craig walked over to where Billy-Eye was standing.
“So, this must be Cindy’s band,” said Billy-Eye.
“Yeah. Well, it’s not really her band. But she’s the drummer.”
“They look hot. I’ll give you that. What do they call themselves?”
Craig was about to answer when he saw Sondra take a king size bed sheet out of a bag, and drape it over the blackboard. The bold, orange lettering read Orange Puke. There were splatters of orange and green paint around the edges that were apparently supposed to be vomit. “There you go.” Craig pointed to the sheet.
“That’s the funniest name I’ve seen all night.” Billy-Eye laughed. But they’d better be awfully good if they expect to win. Because I really liked Chemical Rose.”
There’s a long road on the outskirts of Orange that’s lined with petroleum plants. It’s known as Chemical Row. If you’re visiting the city, you might want to hold your nose when you drive down it. Orangites are used to the stink. So, one of the bands thought it would be funny to name themselves Chemical Rose. When Sondra had heard the name, she wished she had thought of it herself.
Craig watched to see how the crowd was responding. By the end of their first song, the kids had gathered near the bandstand for a close look at the flashy girls on stage. Their music was somewhat better than that of the other bands, but Craig was not at all certain that Billy-Eye was being swayed. Sondra had told him that the special song she wrote would be last. She had assured him that it would give them the edge over the other bands.
Cindy went into a drum solo as the other three women took off their guitars and set them in their stands. They walked around behind the blackboard.
“What are they doing?” said Billy-Eye.
“I don’t know,” said Craig. But he hoped it worked.
When they walked out, they looked no different. They picked up their guitars and strapped them on as Cindy continued to go crazy on the drums. Boomer was the first to join in. Her five-string bass rattled everything that wasn’t tied down. The standard bass guitar comes with four strings: E-A-D-G. But her bass had a fifth string—the B below the E. Her lowest notes could be felt more than heard.
Next, Sondra joined in on rhythm guitar. Finally, E. Z. came in with a screeching lead guitar lick.
All this was a dramatic lead-in to Sondra’s song, Puking My Guts Out (All Over You). It was in E Minor, with a driving beat. Sondra sang lead, with the other three singing backup on the choruses.
Yapping with a babe in the parking lot,
You had a tight butt and a really hot car.
I took you for a ride and blew your mind.
But you burned my tires, threw me into the fire.
I try to pretend you didn’t hurt me.
Nobody hurts me.
But then I get this raunchy feeling way down inside.
And I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out
All over you,
All over you.
(E. Z.’s guitar solo)
Stomped me flat without a sound.
You buried my soul in the deep, deep ground.
I’m blacker than black, cold as stone.
I’m dead to the world since you left me alone.
I try to pretend you didn’t hurt me.
Nobody hurts me.
But then I get this raunchy feeling way down inside.
And I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out,
I’m puking my guts out
All over you.
All over you,
All over you,
All over you,
All over you!
For the last all over you, Sondra, E. Z., and Boomer slung their guitars to their backs and stepped to the edge of the stage. They sang the last line a capella, and then, in unison, threw their heads back. Then they barfed into the crowd. And it wasn’t a tiny spew. They blew out a couple of quarts each.
The kids screamed and tried to get away from the chunky orange goo.
Billy-Eye yelled at Craig. “What is this?”
Craig was as confused and upset as his father. “I don’t know.”
“Well they just lost!”
Craig couldn’t argue. It was no use. As badly as he wanted to please Cindy, he couldn’t justify this kind of behavior. Kids might not ever come back after this.
The three women stepped back from the edge of the stage, and Cindy stood up at her drums. Then Orange Puke took a slow, dignified bow—as though they had just performed Mozart for the Queen of England.
They’ve got a lot of nerve, thought Craig.
Then the screaming died down. Some kids were beginning to laugh.
One boy yelled, “Taste it!”
“Gross!”
“No, really.”
“He’s right! It tastes like orange juice!”
“But what are these chunks?”
A boy licked his arm. “I think it’s oatmeal.”
More and more of the kids began to realize that they hadn’t really been sprayed with barf. It was just a gimmick. A cool gimmick. The coolest gimmick ever!
Orange Puke had been disgusting only five minutes earlier. Now they were the hottest thing in town.
Billy-Eye had seen and heard enough. He grabbed Craig by the shoulders. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go tell them they got the job!”
9 - THE WINNING BAND
Craig hurried to the stage, zigzagging his way across the floor of orange puddles. He ran up the stairs to meet Sondra. “Are you crazy?” He tried to give her a stern look, but then broke into laughter.
“Did we get the job?”
“Yes, you did.”
Boomer walked over to Sondra and gave her a high five. “Yeah, Baby.”
E. Z. grinned. She couldn’t believe Sondra’s weird idea had worked.
“How did you do it?” said Craig. “I mean, how did you get it in your mouth? You were singing, and then you just spit it out.”
Sondra smiled proudly, turned her back to him, and pointed to the white tube hanging out the top of her tux coat behind her neck. The tip of it had some of the orange stuff on it. Then she turned back around and opened the left side of her coat, revealing an old-fashioned hot water bottle.
“We mixed up some Tang and a little oatmeal. Then, when the time came, we released this little thing.” She pointed to the crimp clamp on the tube. “Then we reached back and grabbed the top of the tube like this.” She pulled it around with her left hand, and pointed it at Craig, placing her hands to the sides of her mouth. “And then smashed down on the bottle like this.” She raised her arm, ready to fire her goo gun.
Craig held up his hands and stepped back. “Okay—I get it.”
“Works like a charm,” said Sondra.
“Yes, it does,” he said. “And it was the thing that put you over the top. Daddy liked your music, but I think he liked Chemical Rose better. Then you blew chunks all over the kids, and I thought he was going to skin you alive. You really took a big cha
nce with this stunt.”
“I like to live on the edge,” said Sondra.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out. Once Daddy saw that the kids thought it was cool, he knew they’d want to bring all their friends here. But just don’t do it again.”
“Why not?”
E. Z. stepped in. “That’s fine, right? We got the job. We don’t have to do it anymore.”
Sondra snarled at her. “It’s my call. I’m the leader of this band. So, shut up!”
“Anybody else got any comments?” She waited. “Good!”
**********
Craig led Cindy Banya into the office. The other band members had already walked out to the parking lot. He tried to focus on her face as he talked, but his eyes kept gravitating to her incredibly long sexy legs. For once, he almost wished he could look two directions at the same time—like Billy-Eye. “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your playing tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really. You’re a great drummer.”
“I’m okay.” Just as Craig was about to speak, she said, “Well I’d better get home now. It’s after midnight. And I live with my parents, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure they would understand. After all, you’re a grown woman.” And what a woman, he thought.
“I can do whatever I want, sure. But it’s about respect. My family still lives by the traditions and values of the old country.”
“Russia.”
“Yes.”
“But you were born here in the U. S.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Aw, come on—at least give me a little kiss.” Craig took her in his arms. He was about to devour her full, sweet lips.
“This is not what I want.” Cindy did not pull away. Clearly, she assumed he was a gentleman, and would be respectful of her wishes.
He did not loosen his grip. “What do you mean? I thought you liked me.”
“There is a time and a place.”
Craig released her, wondering how he could have misread her intentions. He had worked hard to get her into a band, and help that band get a job. Had she just been using him?
The door flew open. It was Billy-Eye, and he did not look happy. “You need to quit messing around, and get out here and manage your staff. This place has got to be cleaned up tonight.”
“Okay,” said Craig. But he didn’t budge.
“Now!” Billy-Eye bellowed.
**********
The house was dark. Sondra tiptoed up the stairs and across the wooden porch. When a board creaked, she winced. She slipped into the house quietly, and turned on the lamp near the door.
“It’s about time!” Val was sitting in her recliner, holding a whisky glass.
“You’re drunk,” said Sondra.
“And you’re a murderer.”
Sondra hesitated. “What are you talking about?”
Val’s mouth gradually formed a smile. Then it stretched too far—until she looked like The Joker from Batman. “I saw you leave with that boy the other night. The one who came here looking for you. Mitch. The next day, the police found a body in the river.”
“So?” Sondra said, without emotion.
Val picked up the newspaper from the small table beside her chair and threw it at Sondra.
Sondra scanned the headlines.
There it was—a picture of Mitch. The article said that his parents weren’t sure why he was in Orange, and didn’t know of anyone who would want to hurt their son. “That’s too bad. He seemed like a nice kid.” She dropped the newspaper on the couch.
“Why did you kill him, Sondra? Did he try to make a move on you?”
“What makes you think I killed him? Or that I would kill anyone?” She paused. “I guess now you think you need to turn me in.”
“Not necessarily,” she slurred.
“Because if you’re planning to call the police, I want you to tell me right now—so I can murder you, just like I murdered him.”
Val froze.
Sondra snickered. “You get crazy in the head when you’re drunk, Old Woman. I’m going to bed.”
Sondra walked past her mother. She could have easily stepped behind Val’s chair and snapped her neck. She went into her bedroom, and shut the door.
**********
Sondra had been sleeping for a couple of hours when she heard men talking in the living room.
Her bedroom door burst open, and two cops rushed in.
She tried to get away, but they grabbed her, and threw her back down on the bed. Then they rolled her over and bound her wrists with a rope.
She wondered why they were using rope instead of handcuffs. “What are you doing?”
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“I know my rights. I want a lawyer.”
“Anything you say…doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“You have the right to an attorney, but you won’t need one.”
One of the cops put a dog collar around her neck and pulled it tight.
“What are you doing? Get this thing off of me—right now!”
They tied her ankles together, picked her up, and carried her out. When they walked through the living room, Sondra saw Val still sitting in her chair.
“Mom!”
“I warned you, Honey.”
“Mom, help me!”
Val smiled, and took another sip of her whiskey.
Sondra yelled for somebody to wake up and save her. Anybody. But she couldn’t even rouse the neighborhood dogs. And by the time they got her to the back fence, she was so hoarse that her screams were mere whispers.
They laid her on the ground, and snapped a leash onto her collar. Then they picked her up, and raised her body high above their heads. The wooden fence was much taller than she remembered it. They were barely able to push her over the top.
She fell what seemed like twenty feet, before the leash pulled taut—slamming her head against the fence as gravity continued to pull her body downward. For a split second, she imagined her torso ripping free from its head.
She was surprised to still be alive. She could touch the grass—but only with the tips of her toes. Suffocation had begun.
She reached above her head up to the leash and tried to pull herself up, to release the pressure. But she was already getting too weak.
How did her hands get loose? Maybe they were really still tied. She was getting delirious as her life slipped away.
No! Don’t give in! She grabbed the collar with both hands, pulling on it with all her might.
Suddenly she woke up, gasping for air. She was in her bed.
She jumped up, and ran into the living room.
Val was asleep in the recliner.
10 - ROAD TRIP
It was a warm, sunny Saturday morning in Coreyville. Greg Tenorly loved Texas weather—except for the humidity. It was a perfect day for a long drive in his big red convertible.
The large suitcase looked small in the huge trunk of his shiny 1965 Pontiac Bonneville. They could have made the trip in Cynthia’s new Toyota Avalon, but Greg preferred his glorious battleship for highway driving. The 43-year-old car was in primo condition. He closed the lid, taking care not to slam it. It had been the most beautiful thing in his life—until he met Cynthia.
“You and Bonnie ready to go?” Cynthia smiled at him from the front porch. It was a bit odd referring to a car by a woman’s name, but she had grown accustomed to it.
“As soon as I let her top down.”
Cynthia walked down the stairs, and over to the car. “Sometimes I get a little jealous.”
“Good,” said Greg. “Wouldn’t want you to take me for granted.” He winked at her.
“Y’all have a nice time,” said Beverly from the porch.
“We will, Mom,” said Cynthia.
“And Greg, good luck with your dad,” said Beverly.
“Thanks.”
They got into the car and drove away, waving goodbye.
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“Can’t wait to get you alone in the hotel room,” said Greg.
“Is that the only reason we’re making this trip?” she said playfully.
“No, of course not. But it’s the main reason.”
“Well, I know it bugs you when we’re trying to make love, knowing Mom’s in the next room.”
“Yeah. And you always have to smash my face down into the pillow so she won’t hear me.”
Cynthia giggled.
“You think it’s funny, but one of these times you’re gonna suffocate me.”
She laughed.
“Go ahead and laugh, but I’m telling you…”
But it was no use. He tried his best, but could not sustain his serious tone. Her laugh was contagious.
“I think she heard us last night,” said Greg.
“Why? Did she look at you funny at the breakfast table?” She laughed harder.
“Well, yeah. I think she did.”
“No. It’s just that new high fiber cereal she trying. She nearly gags every time she puts the spoon in her mouth.”
“Have you ever tasted that stuff?”
“No.”
“It’s sawdust.”
“Oh, Greg.”
“No. It’s literally sawdust. I’m telling you.”
Cynthia laughed.
“Unscrupulous car dealers used to put sawdust in the gearbox of worn-out manual transmissions to make them shift smoothly.”
“Really? How did you know that?”
“Uncle Ed.”
“Well, maybe that’s exactly what Mom needs—maybe she’s not shifting smoothly.”
They both laughed out loud.
Finally, after they had caught their breath, Cynthia said, “So, what’s the plan? Are we going by your dad’s house today?”
“Maybe later. First, I want to go to Edsel Torkman’s Auto Shop,” he said with fanfare.
“Okay.” She paused. “Edsel’s just a nickname, right? That’s not his real name.”
“Actually, it is.”
“Edsel. Like the stupid looking car from the fifties?”
Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set Page 64
