Black Dogs

by Jason Buhrmester

  “Fine. I'll scout the backstage with Frenchy then work with you guys to get the cash.”

  The record on the turntable ended and the needle hissed as the record spun beneath it. Outside the bedroom door Alex's welcome-home party carried on without him. Keith spoke up first.

  “Where do we start?”

  Frenchy jumped in. “I think we need to figure out how to get backstage first.”

  “I have a plan for that,” I told them.

  “And we need to check out the hotel,” Alex said. “Do you know which hotel they're using?”

  “I don't know but I know someone who will,” I answered.

  I pulled the bright yellow Misty Mountain Hoppers Led Zeppelin Fan Club flier out of the pocket where I'd left it since tearing it down at Record Barn. Frenchy shook his head.

  “No, no. That's a horrible idea,” he said.

  “Yeah, man.” Alex laughed. “She's gonna want to see you even less than I did.”

  They were both right.

  SIX

  AT THE SEAFOOD RESTAURANT STARED AT MY TORN-UP JEANS AND BLACK SABBATH T-SHIRT THE NEXT DAY AS THE HOSTESS LED ME TO A CORNER BOOTH. I WASN'T BOTHERED. I WAS STILL THINKING ABOUT ALEX'S PARTY THE NIGHT BEFORE. I DIDN'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAID. DANNY WAS MORE TO BLAME THAN THAT DAMN SNAKE FOR WHAT WENT DOWN THE NIGHT WE ROBBED TINA'S HOUSE.

  We did it on New Year's Eve. Tina and her family would be back on New Year's Day so that was our last chance to do it. I'd gone out with Emily every night that week and was meeting her at a New Year's Eve party later that night. I promised I would be there before midnight.

  I only agreed to let Danny come with us because he drove a pickup truck and we wanted to be able to haul everything. It was late and most of the houses were dark. We could see the front door to Tina's house in the distance. The three of us were sitting sandwiched together in the front seat of his truck watching the street when I realized what a dumb idea it was to bring him.

  “I don't see why the fuck Santa would use elves,” Danny said.

  Alex giggled and crushed buds into a pipe with the corner of a candy cane-striped lighter.

  “Seriously,” Danny kept on. “How the fuck are elves supposed to make toys with those chubby little fingers?”

  I stared through the frosted windshield at a light-up reindeer staked in the front yard of a huge house.

  “Dwarves have chubby fingers.” I sighed. “Elves don't.”

  “Wrong, Patrick,” Danny spat, his frosted breath blowing in my face. “I did dishes at Denny's with that little elf motherfucker and he has fat fingers.”

  “That's because he's a dwarf, dumbass.”

  Danny stared at the floor and thought for a second.

  “If he's a dwarf, then what the hell is an elf?”

  Once Alex was good and stoned, he climbed out of the truck and crunched off down the icy street toward Tina's house. He dug the key out of the mailbox and then opened the door and slipped inside. A minute later the garage door opened and Danny pulled the truck slowly up the street and into the garage. Alex closed the door behind us.

  We kept the lights off in the house as me and Alex loaded up the truck. Danny walked around knocking paintings off the wall, searching for a safe. I was disconnecting the stereo in Tina's brother's room when Alex spotted the snake aquarium and panicked.

  “We can't let Danny see this,” he said. “Come on. We have to go.”

  “Why?” I asked, picking up the turntable.

  “Because he's totally nuts over snakes. You didn't know that?” Alex said. He grabbed the stereo and whipped the cable out of the wall.

  “We have to get out of here. If he sees this thing—”

  “Sees what thing?” Danny asked. He stood in the doorway holding a mounted moose head.

  Alex stepped to the left to block Danny's view but it was too late. The moose head thumped to the ground and Danny charged over to the aquarium. He flipped open the heavy lip, shoved his arm inside and lifted the cover to a small habitat. A coiled giant white snake hissed from the corner. Alex and I backed toward the door. Danny grabbed the snake behind the head and all twelve feet of it uncoiled as he lifted it out of the cage.

  “Hot shit!” he said. “This is an albino carpet python. We can get a ton for this thing.”

  “We're not stealing a snake, man,” I said, keeping my distance.

  “Are you nuts? There are probably rare snake dealers in Arizona who will pay thousands for this guy.”

  He stared into the snake's eyes. There was no way we were taking the snake.

  “And where are you going to keep it until then?” I argued. “How are you going to ship it? You don't know anything about this shit so just put it back.”

  Danny ranted about Australian pythons, reptile breeding and international shipping procedures for live animals, most of which he probably made up. When me and Alex refused to help him carry the heated aquarium, Danny dropped the snake on the bed and stomped down the stairs. The house shook as the garage door raised and Danny sped out of the garage. Tires squealed down the driveway and the truck fishtailed when it hit the icy street. Danny lost control and the truck careened off a parked car. He oversteered and spun out in the neighbor's front yard, mowing over the light-up reindeer. He got the truck back on the street and sped away.

  Alex and I were grabbing whatever we could carry when the front door opened. Flashlights circled the room and two cops yelled for us to stop. I bolted to the right and ran down the long hallway through the kitchen, then out the back door and across the dark yard. Alex was cornered. He turned and ran back up the stairs. The cops tackled him, knocking him across Tina's brother's bed and on top of the twelve-foot albino python. I was climbing the backyard fence when the snake sunk its teeth into Alex's arm. I swear I heard him scream.

  I shook off the memory just as the waitress grunted a hello and set down a glass of water, slopping most of it on the table. She never looked at me. Her dark ponytail swung as she turned her head toward the front door and a family who looked fresh from church entered.

  “I'm ready to order,” I told her.

  She mumbled something and rifled through the front of her red apron, pulling out a pen and a notepad. After flipping a few pages she looked up, stared at me for a few seconds then spoke.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  I sort of expected that.

  “How have you been, Emily?”

  Her elbow jutted out as she slapped her hand on her hip. She rolled her blues.

  “What can I get you?”

  “I'm back in town for a bit and thought I would come by.”

  “Great. When are you leaving?”

  “Not sure. I came in for Alex's welcome-home party. Didn't see you there.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking down. “Sorry. It was a bad joke.”

  She stared at me. Her glossed lips popped on her chewing gum.

  “Listen,” I said. “I'm really sorry about how everything went down.”

  “Which part? The part when you and Alex robbed my best friend's house or the part when you stood me up on New Year's Eve and left town without ever talking to me again?”

  “I had nothing to do with what happened at Tina's,” I lied. “And I had to leave town. I had a great job lined up in New York that couldn't wait. I tried getting in touch with you. You never returned any of my calls.”

  “I was mad.”

  “Let me make it up to you,” I said.

  Emily's boss yelled to her from behind the counter.

  “I got to go,” she said, turning to walk away.

  “Wait. What are you doing tonight?”

  “It's Sunday. You know what I'm doing. I'm going to my sister's.”

  “Is she still running that Led Zeppelin fan club?”

  “Yes. And you know it's called the Misty Mountain Hoppers.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  She stopped and looked up at me.

>   “Why? You don't like Zeppelin.”

  “Would coming to the meeting be punishment enough for you to forgive me?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Then maybe I'll do it,” I said.

  When she walked away, I yanked the yellow flier from the Record Barn out of my pocket, crumpled it and tossed it under the booth.

  * * *

  Emily's sister Anna lived in a boxy apartment above a car parts store on a busy street. Concrete steps shot straight up the back to a long, tiled hallway. The apartment was in rough shape but Anna had done her best to dress it up. Bright paint covered each room. Yellow in the living room. Red in the kitchen. Green in the bedroom. Tapestries and black-light posters covered the walls along with photos of Led Zeppelin. A half-finished mural on the living room wall showed Jimi Hendrix in the sky above portraits of Led Zeppelin. Anna was a terrible painter and Jimi looked more like Yogi Bear.

  Anna was short and dumpy, and even though she was only in her twenties she looked older. She shuffled past in a flowing yellow skirt that reached her ankles just above bare feet covered in weird jewelry. Trinkets and braids dangled in her ratty brown hair. Emily was wild and energetic but Anna was dull and almost always incredibly stoned. She held a dopey grin on her face, especially as she cut me off and talked over me. She did that to everyone. Most of her sentences trailed off as she fumbled to pin some hokey spiritual bullshit to everything.

  She led us through the beaded curtains dangling in the doorway and into the living room.

  “I hear you are living in New York City, Patrick. How is it?”

  “It's good.”

  “Ugh. I don't like that place. It's such a negative energy trap.”

  Emily covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. I didn't know what to say.

  “What's your sign anyway?” Anna asked.

  Virgo. But I hated astrology.

  “I don't know.”

  “You don't know your sign?”

  I looked at Yogi Hendrix on the wall.

  “I think I'm the Bear.”

  “The Bear? Is that from the Chinese zodiac?”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Sorry, guys! That must be Kyle,” Anna said. “Help yourself to a beer or a hash brownie. We'll fire up Babe later.”

  “What's Babe?” I asked Emily when Anna was gone.

  Emily pointed to a giant blue bong nearly four feet tall in the corner.

  “She nicknamed it Babe the Blue Ox.”

  “Your sister is insane.”

  “You're the one who wanted to come with me.” She grinned.

  The rest of the Misty Mountain Hoppers slowly showed up. They were a sad pack of hippies. Guys who got the “burn out” part down but forgot the “fade away.”

  There was Carl, a scrawny guy with one arm in a sling, dirty glasses that covered his entire face and a cheap cowboy hat who whined about the food while Manuel, a three-hundred-pound Mexican kid, bitched about the hot weather. Steve and Stacy, a brother-and-sister duo, talked about wheatgrass juice. Jim paced around the apartment in tight, black bell-bottoms. He looked like an ex-con or at least a psycho. He wore a pentagram ring on a tattooed hand and carried an Aleister Crowley book. The other stragglers looked like they just woke up at the bus station and didn't have anywhere else to go. Everyone smoked pot.

  Kyle was the leader. He looked bookish, with long brown hair, Lennon-style glasses and a few turquoise rings. He sat cross-legged in a corner chair in his white pants, an ugly paisley shirt and an expensive-looking tan suede vest. Anna brought him a cup of tea and he nodded but never looked up from his stack of notes.

  “Okay, everyone,” Kyle said. He stood in the middle of the living room. We all sat like kindergarteners on the floor around him.

  “Tomorrow night is Zeppelin at the Civic Center. I'll be driving a load of people down in my van and Carl can take a few people in his truck.”

  Kyle reminded everyone to meet at Anna's the next day so they could drive down together and then asked Steve and Stacy for a report on the sign they were supposed to make that said MISTY MOUNTAIN HOPPERS LOVE LED ZEPPELIN. Kyle looked disgusted when neither one of them remembered and that led to a discussion on the strength of last week's wine, which took a bizarre right turn into a talk about Carl's habit of pissing his pants when he got really stoned.

  “Now has anyone had any luck figuring out where the band is staying in New York City the rest of the week?” Kyle asked. “We were all supposed to make some calls this week.”

  Everyone stared at the ground like kids who had forgotten to do their homework.

  “They are playing Friday, Saturday and Sunday at Madison Square Garden, guys. We are driving up for Saturday's show and it would be nice to know where the band is staying so we can stake out the lobby. Anyone have any ideas?”

  “How hard could it be to figure that out?” I whispered to Emily.

  “You think you know?” she said, grabbing my hand.

  “Well, I'm sure I could find out if I really gave a shit.”

  She turned to Kyle.

  “Kyle. Patrick says he can find out where Zeppelin is staying.”

  “Oh yeah?” Kyle said, looking down his glasses at me. “And how are you going to do that?”

  I hadn't really thought about it. I figured that Carmine could find out. He'd been catering concerts for years in New York City.

  “I know a caterer,” I said.

  Kyle pushed his glasses back up his nose and shook his head.

  “I don't see how that's going to work.”

  “Gimme the phone.”

  I dialed Carmine's office but he didn't answer. I tried the main office and Louise picked up. She put me on hold for a few minutes then popped back on to give me the address. I knew what she was going to say before she said it. I hung up and walked back into the living room.

  “Drake Hotel. Park Avenue and Fifty-sixth.”

  Everyone looked surprised. A few of them doubted me but didn't have any better answers. Emily grabbed my hand again when I sat back down.

  “Why do you come to these things?” I asked her later after the meeting had ended. We were standing in the kitchen grabbing beers from the fridge.

  “Mostly because I like hanging out with my sister. Besides, it's not so bad. Free beer and pot. Beats being at home.”

  She leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “How did Kyle become the leader of this group?” I asked.

  “He's the only one who's met Jimmy Page. He sold Jimmy Page a guitar last year.”

  “No shit?”

  “Ask him about it. Believe me, he loves telling the story.”

  “No thanks. I don't want to encourage him.”

  Emily looked around the party.

  “Hey, Kyle,” she yelled into the living room. “Patrick wants to hear about the time you met Jimmy.”

  I glared at her as I walked toward the living room. Kyle sat cross-legged on the floor taking a drag from Babe the blue bong. He turned around when he finished.

  “Have you met Jimmy?” he asked me.

  “Nope.”

  “You really should, man. He's amazing. I met him last year.”

  “Is that when you sold him a guitar?”

  “Yeah. My dad had given me a sixty-four Stratocaster when I was in college. I never learned to play it. I'd actually forgotten about it. When I got back from Europe I found it in a closet. A buddy told me it might be worth some money. I knew that Jimmy bought a lot of guitars on the road. I figured it might get me in to meet him. I mean, I just loved the idea that Jimmy would be playing a guitar that belonged to me.”

  “Totally,” Anna said, nodding. “It would be like your energies were entwined.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “When Zeppelin came to town I brought the guitar to their hotel and waited in the lobby. I sat there all day until Richard Cole showed up.”

  “Who's Richard Cole?”

  “You don't know who Richard Cole is?”
Kyle scoffed.

  I shook my head.

  “He's Zeppelin's tour manager. He's a legend, man. So I showed him the guitar and he said he thought Jimmy might wanna buy it. He went upstairs to talk to Jimmy. I just hung out in the lobby. I waited a long time. I thought they forgot about me. Then Richard came back and told me to come upstairs. I figured we were going to his room but when the door opened Jimmy was sitting in a chair playing guitar through a teeny little amp. I was totally freaking out.”

  “Oh man,” Carl said, shoving a hash brownie in his mouth.

  “He was so small. I was surprised. He was maybe this tall,” Kyle said, holding out his arm.

  “He loved the guitar. Just loved it, man. He plugged it in and played some stuff on it for me. ‘Dazed and Confused.’ ‘Thank You.’ And a little song that hadn't even come out yet. Know what it was?”

  I shrugged.

  “Stairway to Heaven.”

  Everyone around us gasped, even though they'd heard it all before. Carl whistled loudly through a mouthful of hash brownies.

  “Yep. I was the first person outside of Led Zeppelin and their crew to ever hear it.”

  Kyle looked pleased as shit, though he really had no actual way of knowing this.

  “So he bought the guitar?” I asked.

  Kyle looked annoyed.

  “Yeah, he did, man. Three hundred dollars. Cash. Took it out of a briefcase filled with money. I've never seen so much money in my life. Must have been fifty thousand dollars.”

  “They really carry around that much cash?”

  “It's Zeppelin, man,” said Manuel, leaning in. He wheezed loudly while chewing on a potato chip. “They spend that shit on cars and guitars and the best freakin' drugs. They're rich, man.”

  “So where does the band stay when they're in Baltimore?” I asked.

  “Where they always stay. The Hilton.”

  “They rent a whole floor or something?”

  He gave me a suspicious look.

  “Yeah. They take the top floor. Everyone stays there—the band, the crew, managers, everyone.”

  “Thanks for the story, Kyle,” I said, walking away.

  Me and Emily left a short time later just as the hash brownies laid waste to the Misty Mountain Hoppers. Anna passed out in a bean bag chair with her shirt off, and Manuel ate everything on the kitchen table including a can of whipped cream. Carl pissed his pants.