Sons of Mayhem 3: The Full Force

by Pink, Nikki

  Lonnie rolls across the tongue like the purr of a gently teased Harley when you twist the throttle ever so softly, or the dulcet teasing tones of a lass from Cork whispering in your ear.

  London on the other hand is, harsh, abrupt, the two syllables jar and it sounds like you downshifted too early causing your engine to let out a complaining whine. Don’t get me wrong, London is a fine name for a city. But for a person? It doesn’t work. Lonnie sounds better and that’s the name that stuck.

  There they all were. There we all were. After all these years. At the front of the stage was Johnny, who currently used the last name Tranquil. Johnny Tranquil. Shit. He was all grown up too.

  “Alright mate,” I said as I clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Yeah alright,” he replied, his voice soft but not girly. A true singer’s voice. Unlike a lot of rock outfits this band’s singer could actually sing. As a kid he’d been on the path to opera mega-stardom. Until he hit his difficult teen years that was. He ran away from his comfortable home and lived on the streets, busking with his voice and some homemade (street made) cooking-pot drums. He eventually moved into a squat and before too long Wrack and Ruin, the precursor to The Full Force was up, running and gigging.

  Johnny looked good. Really good. His skin was clear and glowing, his hair was shiny (not greasy) and he filled his t-shirt out well with muscles he’d never had when I’d known him in the past. From what I’d heard he was now some kind of health freak. Some kind of vegetarian that not only didn’t eat meat, but also didn’t eat normal things like cheese or butter or whatever. An anti-rock-star-stereotype. As dull as that kind of life and diet must be, I had to admit it did seem to agree with him.

  “Alright, mate!” I said to Si, the bass player. Dark hair down to his shoulder, gin on his breath, lively liquid brown eyes that looked like two swirls of a dark milk chocolate. He approached the edge of the stage and held out a hand. I shook it and winced when I saw his well-muscled forearm. Track marks. That was new.

  Somehow Si still looked okay though, despite the tell tale marks on his arm. Strangely he seemed thicker, stronger than before. Maybe he just put on some more weight as he got older.

  Jase shook hands with Johnny and Si, exchanging his American how’s it going for their British alright?

  The air was ripped apart by a wicked riff. Jase and Nicole jumped at the sudden intrusion of the guitar and I just laughed. I’d been expecting it. The little tune was the entrance music for the lead guitarist. He’d been working that riff since we were kids, before any band had ever been formed. It was his signature.

  The notes seemed to hang in the air much longer than seemed natural and it was impossible to tell whether they were literally hanging in the air, bouncing around the enclosed space, or whether it was just the aftershock of the sudden loud noise causing them to ring in our own heads.

  “C’mere you silly bastard.” Neal reached an arm down and pulled me up onto the stage before giving me an awkward hug. Awkward because of the guitar hanging around his neck, not because of the time and distance that had grown between us. He seemed the same as ever: A cocky, overconfident bastard. Who else would give themselves their own theme tune except a real arrogant motherfucker? Fame hadn’t, and couldn’t, go to Neal’s head - he’d been famous in his own mind since before he had even touched an instrument.

  Standing on that little stage with my old friends around me I felt a sudden pang. Was it regret? Not quite. More just an awareness of another life that could have been lived. A different Lonnie - Matt - that could have existed. I loved my life in the MC, but perhaps an equally interesting life could have been lived if I’d never left England. You can never know what might have been. You can never go back. You can never take the road not taken and see what could have been seen, do would could have been done, feel what could have been felt.

  I grinned at them all. Fuck it. I was proud of what I’d become. Putting on my MC cut every day, having the brotherhood of the club -- that was something they knew nothing, could know nothing, about.

  They could take their rockstar lives and suck it. My life was real living.

  “What’s this?” I asked. I was holding a piece of paper with a hastily scrawled list.

  Chad Chad Price gave me a wink. I hate it when other guys wink at me. Sometimes a chick can give you a little subtle wink, a wink that says meet me out back in two, and that’s cool. But middle aged men? Nothing makes me want to wallop someone more.

  “It’s a shopping list. For the end of the night.”

  I looked at him, then looked up at the band who were all grinning. “Seriously?”

  “Groupies!” yelled Neal.

  “Groupies, groupies, groupies,” chanted Si.

  Johnny Tranquil just gave a mysterious smile.

  Jase shook his head and laughed, his blond hair shaking around his head.

  “Look at this shit,” I said to him as I showed him the list.

  “Red headed girl-next-door. Twenty-one max and… a purple t-shirt? What the fuck?” I saw Jase look up at the band, trying to guess whose request that was, and saw him catch Si’s twinkling eyes.

  “Skinny blonde. Air head. Big tits.” This time it was Rabbie nodding his head.

  “Bisexual nineteen year old Asian identical twins.” Jase let out a laugh.

  “And remember I baggsied ‘em. No one else is allowed to touch.” Neal almost sounded serious. As if there was a chance. He’d always had lofty ambitions.

  “Bagsied?” asked Jase.

  “Dibs. Shotgun. He called it.” I explained. Our club president nodded with a slightly bemused expression as he got it. He’d have to learn proper English around this lot.

  “Oh and look at this. MILF, 40+, Giant tits.”

  Jase and I both looked around, puzzled. Whose was this?

  “I like ‘em real big. Something to bury my face in. Y’know?” said Chad Chad Price, appearing beside them.

  “You dirty motherfucker,” said Jase.

  “Fuck you. I like what I like.” Chad gave Jase a playful smack on the arm. Not many suits would do that to an MC president they’d just met. Brave little arsehole.

  “By the way, what exactly is your job, Chad?” I asked.

  He grinned and handed over a business card. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as I read it.

  Chad Chad Price - Triple Threat:

  Tour Manager.

  Band Manager

  Public Relations and Social Media Tsar.

  “I do it all baby. I get people, bands, artists noticed. I make or break them. When this tour is done this group’s going to be the biggest Brit band in America. Biggest since the Beatles. Maybe bigger.”

  I laughed in partial disbelief. Was this guy serious? He was one cocky son of a bitch.

  “Alright, let’s do this.” Jase headed back to the rest of the guys to figure out their positions. They were hanging about, joshing around, each with a beer in hand they had rustled up from somewhere. There must have been some bar staff skulking about in the dark somewhere. They hadn’t brought one over for me though. I’d have to remedy that soon. I felt a thirst coming on.

  This show would be no problem. It was small and there were ten of us. Ten tough biker motherfuckers. Some of the later shows were gonna be bigger, but this last minute addition? This little show in this grimy little club would be a piece of piss.

  3

  Ava

  Hot and sweaty. Wailing guitars and thumping drums. Flashing lights. Shoved and pushed. Shit, it had been too long since I went to a show. From afar they seem unappealing: too loud music in a too crowded venue selling too expensive drinks to too many rowdy people.

  But you forget the vibe. The energy. The power.

  Lily and I were jumping together in time with the rest of the crowd as The Full Force powered toward the end of their set. The shirtless band members were strutting and rocking all over the stage, looking even hotter and sweatier than the crowd. It was impossible to think or do anything except b
e taken in the moment and rock out with everyone else.

  The energy emptied my mind of everything else and for a moment I didn’t care that I was going to be tired and achy tomorrow when I rolled into work at Spencer and Maker, the marketing firm I worked for. Crash. The cymbals yelled at us and we all listened as the singer announced they were doing their final song of the night.

  They stretched it out. Lily had played this number in the car - she’d played them all - and what had been a short three minute power-rock screaming ballad called Your Effect was turned into a drawn out anthem with an extended guitar solo as well as what must have been three minutes - but felt like half an hour - of the crazed drummer giving it his all in a rousing and rocking drum solo.

  I was gasping when it was over. I hadn’t moved like that in years. Lily was grinning at me and I knew right then she had forgotten the boy she’d broken up with. They say music soothes the soul but music like this rips out whatever the hell is pissing you off, beats it to a bloody pulp and pisses on it. And that’s a very good thing.

  “Alright, let’s get out of here. It’s a long way back.” I wasn’t sure if she’d even be able to hear me if her ears were ringing as much as mine. Whether she did or not, she understood my intention as I nudged her elbow in the direction of the door.

  “Nuh uh.” She shook her head and said something else about the band I couldn’t quite catch.

  “What?” I yelled.

  “Encore!” she yelled back.

  Of course. The encore. I looked up at the stage, and sure enough there were still two “security guards” up there and didn’t look like they were going anywhere soon.

  Why the hell was a motorcycle club providing security at a place like this? Didn’t the club have their own regular doormen? And if they didn’t, why on earth would a British rock band be touring with an American biker gang.

  Who knows. I gave an internal shrug. It was kind of cool though. There were a bunch of the bikers scattered around the club. Two outside, two inside the door, another few along the walls, and two up on the edges of the stage. During the show they’d pushed a few over-eager fans back down but there hadn’t been anything seriously rowdy. Not much for them to do at a small show like this.

  The security guy on the right of the stage caught my eye and he was looking directly at me. I looked him over and I didn’t mind a bit. He was, in simple terms, hot. A bad boy in a leather jacket, tats up his arms and even his lower neck, wicked-blue eyes that promised maybe mischief, maybe danger, perhaps both and a cheeky grin.

  He was my kind of guy. Let me fix that, my kind of fantasy guy. Not like the boring gray-Grahams in the office at work. And not unobtainable like the rockstars Lily pined after - she even had pictures of this band all over her walls. Now, a hot guy with a hint of danger? Can’t beat ‘em. Not that I’d ever dated anyone like that of course. Only office drones in my past.

  I gave him a smile. He didn’t respond. A flash of anger and embarrassment rolled through me.

  Bastard.

  He hadn’t been looking at me. I glanced to my side and I knew. It was Lily he’d been looking at. My little, innocent, red-haired sister Lily.

  Bastard.

  ~You fill my needs when you’re on your knees~

  The band were back on stage blasting through their most famous song, the only one that had really hit the charts in the US so far. My Needs. It was catchy, dirty, loud and perfect for singing live. The whole audience sang along with them and the mood was good, ecstatic even.

  They sure could put on a show. I couldn’t help it, I was grinning ear to ear again, me, who ninety minutes earlier wanted to give up and head home, me, who ten minutes earlier was pissed at the asshole biker on the edge of the stage.

  I grinned over at Lily. At least I tried to. She was gone. A surge of panic ran through me for a second. Relax, I told myself. She couldn’t go far. And she’s a grown woman now anyway. I’d find her after the show. It was a tightly packed crowd, she probably just got shoved to the front or to the side or something.

  But I couldn’t help it. I tried to enjoy the last few minutes of the show, I really did, but my head kept whipping around looking for Lily, wanting to make sure she was okay. With all the security guys and a friendly crowd I was sure she’d be fine but my big-sisterly instincts wouldn’t quit.

  When I found her, it was quite by accident. She wasn’t to my left, or right, she wasn’t in front or behind. She was above me. I saw her hair out of the corner of my eye and looked up and there she was, eyes wide, teeth flashing, shouting in happiness as she was crowd surfed over my head.

  I reached a hand up, too little too late and all I got was a brief touch of her leg. A brief moment of her hot damp skin against my fingertips before she was gone, laughing, giggling and waving as she flew across the crowd to the front of the stage, carried forward by the pushing and supporting arms of the audience.

  I panicked. I’d seen what had happened to the other crowd surfers: a solid rejection from the bikers on the stage - bodies flying back into the crowd, to the ground. But she was a girl, they wouldn’t just toss her down, would they?

  As the song ended the final notes from the guitar continued to ring through the crowd as I watched Lily continue to fly forward. She reached the stage as the band were giving theatrical bows and screaming thank you’s to the crowd. The biker from before, the hot one, saw her coming and jumped over to that part of the stage.

  If you hurt her I’ll kill you, you bastard, I promised to myself. But the good-looking bastard didn’t hurt her, didn’t toss her back into the crowd below.

  He grabbed her and pulled her up to the stage.

  I caught one last glimpse of her, blinking on the stage, blinded by the lights shining down on her until someone flicked a switch and all the lights went out.

  A few seconds later different lights were on and I could see again, the whole club now dimly lit, not just the stage. The band was gone.

  And so was Lily.

  4

  Lonnie

  It all worked out perfect. Before the encore we’d found most of who we needed, and pointed the women in the direction of the tour bus. I had even managed to find a couple of Asian girls for Neal, though twins they weren’t. Maybe after a few drinks he wouldn’t notice.

  The redhead had been a problem though. You wouldn’t have thought it, law of averages being a thing and all, but it was what it was. There weren’t any. None. At least not near the stage. I wasn’t overly concerned. What were they gonna do, fire me?

  But then, just as the show was ending I’d had one delivered right into my arms. She flew across the crowd, like a gift from God above. A God that gifts groupies, that is.

  Boom, she landed. “That’s her!” I heard Si yell behind me as I steadied her on the stage. The lights went out and I led her down the steps off the side of the stage out to the small room out back the band had been using as a makeshift dressing room.

  The room was normally used to store boxes of unused glasses. It was also connected to the cellar where they stored the booze and was linked to a delivery entrance which led to where the tour bus was parked out back.

  Her eyes were wild when I pushed her into the dressing room. Si took her by the arm. He looked very, very happy. Too happy in fact. There’s something messed up with him these days, I thought. I hoped the rest of the band were keeping an eye on him. He’d always had a problem taking things to excess, and now they presumably had a bit of money… I shook my head. Not my problem.

  “Have fun mate,” I said

  He pulled her in close to him. “Will do. Will do indeed.”

  The girl had a smile as wide as the Thames and her eyes were on fire with excitement. I couldn’t understand it. Who the hell would want to spend time with ole’ Si? It takes all sorts I guess.

  I headed back out to the dimly lit club to find Jase and the rest of our crew. It was time for some drinks and maybe find a few ladies of our own. Well, not for Jase though. He had a ball and
chain now. The crowd had slimmed somewhat as a lot of people left when the band finished the set. They probably had jobs or class to go to the next day.

  A minute later I was leaning against the wall, a fag in one hand and cold bottle of cheap lager in the other. Nothing like a cold lager or six in a hot club after a show. I raised it to my lips, the cold glass teasing the ambrosia within--

  “You bastard!”

  Smash. My bottle went flying, bounced off BK, one of the Sons prospects, and shattered on the ground. What the fuck?

  BK gave me look that said have fun with that one pal, as he brushed a couple of drops of beer off his cut with a grin.

  The chick in front of me was a real sight to behold. You know what it’s like when you’ve got a fit bird in front of you, and she’s all riled up, nostrils flaring, eyes raging, mouth blaring and all you want to do is hold her down and give it to her while she hurls abuse at you? That’s exactly what she looked like. Gorgeous, but absolutely fuckin’ livid.

  I gave her a grin. “Let me guess, you wanted to buy me a drink? Jealous I got one already?”

  It was great. I thought her head was about to explode. I had no idea who this mental bird was, but with her tight jean shorts, tight t-shirt, and sweat dripping down her I knew exactly what I wouldn’t mind doing to her.

  “Where’s my sister?”

  I pondered her question a moment. Since I’d never had the pleasure of laying eyes on this hottie before, I guessed her sister must have been one of the chicks we tapped for the band. Looking at her, the sister probably wasn’t the well-endowed middle aged lady or one of the Asians.

  “Slim blonde? Kind of airheady? Big tits?” I enquired.

  Slap. She didn’t like that much, did she? The boys beside me laughed and so did I. We were used to feisty women. Usually there was a reason they got bolshie first though -- they didn’t just come into the clubhouse fists swinging without good reason. This chick was coming at me right out of the blue and it was making my balls tingle.