Sons of Mayhem 3: The Full Force

by Pink, Nikki

  “Nicole was looking earlier. She said they’re like a hundred, a hundred fifty maybe.”

  My eyebrows shot up. $100-$150 a ticket? That was nuts. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

  “Nope. Should keep the rougher fans away, eh?”

  I laughed. “You mean people like us?”

  Jase grinned. “Exactly. Easy money.”

  “I guess. I feel sorry for the band though. This tour was supposed to be their big breakout in the US. They got that song on the radio, but they need some big fuckin’ shows to really make a name for themselves.”

  Jase shrugged. I shook my head. Oh well, not my problem. It was a shame, it’d be nice to see the boys do really well, but if they could sell the tickets at this price they might be able to clear a bit of cash. They’d more than break even on the tour and they’d still have the record royalties, as pitiful as they were these days thanks to streaming services and cheap digital sales.

  Jase clicked his fingers in front of my eyes. Shit. He knows I hate that.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Where are we going tonight?"

  Oh yeah. He'd asked a question a while ago hadn't he. "Some shithole called Vesuvius. Ever heard of it?"

  "Nope. Anyone else?" Jase's eyes scanned around the room, waiting to hear whether anyone else had heard of the place. Finally someone spoke up. It was one of the Ragers guys, a prospect. I didn't know his name.

  "Yeah. I been there. It's kind of a dive. A converted warehouse I think."

  "Figures," I said, "that seems to be the kind of place good old Chad Chad has chosen for all of the shows. Any idea of the capacity?"

  "Depends how tight they're gonna pack 'em in. But I'd say, maybe two fifty?"

  "Well, shit. They’re selling three hundred tickets for this one. It’s going to be sardines in there. Anyway, I figure two on the door, two on the edge of the stage -- if there's room -- and the rest just hang outside as reinforcements.”

  “Shit, having us all along is overkill, isn't it?" said Jase.

  I nodded at the boss. "Yep seems to be total overkill. Still, better to be too many than too few."

  "Ain't that the truth," said BK.

  There were other rumbles of agreement around the room as memories were stirred. Memories of being outnumbered or outgunned, fights gone wrong, beat downs and smackdowns received. Shit, living the way we do, these kinds of things weren't uncommon. But still, we got to experience the other side as well. You don't know joy until you get all the thrill of a good fight while knowing you and your mates outnumber the other fuckheads two or three to one. You get to fight, you get to kick some arse and you know damn well you're going to win. That's the shit.

  "Alright, anything else?" asked Jase.

  There were silent shakes and grunts. Everyone was pretty happy. We had an easy job to do and we were actually going to be paid more than suds and grub to do it. What was there to complain about?

  Then the doorbell rang.

  These suites were fancy, and they came with a nice doorbell that provided a real quality chiming sound from high quality speakers so that it could be heard in any room of the suite. No rapping on the door for attention here.

  I got up to go answer it. It was probably a prospect's job, but I was the closest so what the hell. I went over, swung the unlocked door open and before I knew it my eyebrows had shot up my head. I hadn't been expecting what I saw, though perhaps I should have.

  "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave," said a man in a suit who I guessed was the day manager. He looked much more confident than the guy we'd dealt with the night before. Of course, his confidence might have been helped by the fact that he had four policemen standing behind him.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  The manager looked pointedly behind me. I swung my head over my shoulder and had a proper gander. It did look pretty bad. There were near a dozen leather clad, tattooed bikers sitting on heavily damaged furniture amid a debris sea made of bottles, cans, wrappers and who knows what else.

  "That's the matter. We're going to have to ask you to leave. All of you."

  "Worry not, worry not," came a familiar voice behind the cops. A moment later Chad Chad Price was wriggling between them and then he was behind me. "Listen up! Don't worry. I've found somewhere much nicer than this," he turned to look at the manager, "shithole. Don't worry about the mess, let's just get going."

  Jase stood up chuckling. The other men joined him. It was pretty funny really, especially since we wouldn't have to pay for it.

  "We'll be on our way then, shall we?" I said to the manager and the police officers behind him. He looked irate. They must have insurance for this kind of shit, mustn't they? Or maybe Acts of God and Rock were excluded from their policy.

  We all rose to our feet and made our way grinning to the door. I noticed a couple of the boys were holding a few souvenirs from the room - a bottle of Jacks here, an engraved hotel pen there, a silver letter opener. Just a few little perks of the job.

  The police officers parted as we swaggered out, giving us nasty looks as we left but not causing any hassle. Chad Chad Price led the way, seeming over pleased by the sudden turn of events. Surely this was extra hassle for him?

  As we headed down the hallway a cute young rock-chick with dyed blue hair snapped some pictures of us with her cellphone. I’d thought most of the groupies had left already, but I guess this one had slipped through the net. Chad patted her on the shoulder as we passed. Shit, he got around a bit, didn’t he, I thought.

  16

  An hour and a half later me and the Sons and the Ragers found ourselves laughing as we pulled up to a real dive of a hotel. Peeling paint, a neon sign from the 70s and gap toothed front desk staff that were more redneck than Hollywood.

  What a shithole. Chad may have been talking a big game to the manager at the last place, but he most certainly had not found us somewhere better. I've seen motels better than this rundown old joint. Supposedly it’d been a favorite of James Dean, but that was sixty odd years before.

  Chad dealt with the front desk in record time, then Chad, me and the band headed up to the rooms. We rode a whining elevator up to the fifth, and top, floor of the hotel which juddered the whole way up. We marched down a stained carpeted corridor before I grandly swung open the door to one of the suites.

  "As long as the sheets are clean," said Johnny Tranquil, stoic as always.

  "Fuck this shower of shite. We're supposed to be fuckin' rock stars. fuckin' champagne, diamonds, Class A drugs, models. Look at this place," Rabbie swung a drumstick around the so-called suite, "the only model who'll want to get high in here is a fuckin' model aeroplane."

  "You ain't even been close to a model anyway. I'm sure the groupies won't mind," I told him. He glared back.

  "It's much more rock'n'roll, don't you think boys?" asked Chad.

  "No," replied Johnny, Neal, Rabbie and Si.

  17

  Lonnie

  We got to club Vesuvius in no time at all. The new hotel was closer to this club and it was an easy thirty minute ride to the converted warehouse.

  As I rode my motorcycle there my thoughts turned back to the night before. Watching my old friends play in front of a proper, adoring crowd was really something. But then later. With her. Shit. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. She had so much energy, so much rage, so much frustration.

  I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forget the way she dug her nails in and moaned while I gave it to her. But she was gone, along with her crazy little sister. I’d never see her again. Maybe that was for the best. I sighed to myself, my breath disappearing into the warm wind that was whipping past. It wasn’t for the best. There was something about that girl. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. But there was definitely something.

  When we arrived we weren't "late" for once but the disadvantage with getting there on time of course was that we had time to meet the manager, Scott Thomson. He was like a younger, poor-man's version of Ch
ad, if that was possible. No doubt his parents had bought him the club and now he was busy running it into the ground, if the state of the place was anything to go by.

  Still, as I always say, not my problem.

  We had a look round the place first, and it was smaller than the last venue. Chad assured us that the fans were going nuts online and the tickets had sold out in less than a minute once they'd become available. No one was here yet though. Just us.

  "Beers, let's go," I said to Scott.

  He kind of shuffled and nodded, not sure how to respond. Not surprising, I had Jase and Everest standing next to me and none of us looked like we were people to be trifled with.

  "Okay. Budweiser?" he asked.

  Dumbass. "I'll take a Spitfire Ale or a Newkie Brown."

  He looked startled. Jase and Everest laughed at the little panic stricken man.

  “I don’t think we have those…”

  "Whatever mate, just get us some beers. Anything is fine."

  He nodded and ran off.

  Behind us the lads were getting set up on stage. The roadies had dragged all the equipment in and now they were on the stage fiddling around with things. I could hear Si trying to tune his bass, it was way off and he kept making it worse. None of them were getting a good sound out of their kit, except for Rabbie and his drums. From the way they kept rubbing their heads I could tell they were regretting hitting it quite so hard the night before.

  That was the problem with a fucked up tour like this - they didn't get any time to have a proper break. It was one show after another, bam, bam, bam and if they insisted on partying after each one they were going to be exhausted in no time.

  But again, not my problem.

  "Where's the ol' lady?" I asked Jase.

  "Gone off somewhere with Juicy. She said they already saw the 'Force last night. Don't need to see 'em again."

  I grunted. "Probably won't be a very good set tonight anyway."

  Jase took a big sip of the red-labeled beer. "Right. Probably not."

  We managed to get a couple of beers in and a bit of a buzz going before it was time to open up the doors. Everest offered to work the front door, and when he pushed it open and stalked outside the screams that filtered down to us weren't just the screams of excited fans who'd been lucky enough to snag one of the overpriced tickets - some of them sounded like screams of fear. The big guy must have lunged at them to give them a fright. He likes to do that sometimes.

  I climbed up on to one edge of the low stage and jumped a couple of times, testing its strength. It shook alarmingly and I worried whether it would make it through the night. I shrugged. If it didn't, so what. The boys wouldn't fall too far down. It might knock some sense into them, I thought with a chuckle.

  There was a bar located on what was the right side for us, up on the stage. As the crowd stormed in the two bartenders braced themselves for the initial rush.

  Behind us in the dark there was shuffling as the guys finished getting ready. I got the impression there wasn't going to be any fucking around tonight - no warming the crowd up, no teasing them, no giving them time to build anticipation. Nope. The boys just wanted to play and get the fuck out. Once they'd done their encore they'd be right the hell out the back door I guessed. Chad hadn't given me a ‘shopping list’ today either. I guess if they were going to get groupies they were just going to snatch them up themselves.

  Coming from the front of the club I sensed rather than saw some rapid movement. A scuffle of some kind.

  "Calm the fuck down, or you are out of here." I recognized the voice. It was BK, yelling at one of the customers.

  The dimly lit crowd cleared a little and I saw a guy with a shaved head being held by the scruff of a leather jacket.

  Was it a cut? Was he from another MC? I wasn't sure. I saw BK release the guy and he stormed off toward the bar, an angry look on his face.

  "What the fuck was that?" asked Jase.

  "Dunno. Just some asshole I guess."

  "Think that's all the excitement we're going to get?"

  I started to reply but was cut off the wailing of Neal's electric guitar. I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. It was 6:48. They were starting early. What the hell kind of rock band starts early? The audience wasn't even completely here yet, and most of those who had arrived were still trying to get a drink before the show started.

  So much for building the crowd up before you start.

  Sparky hit the lights and we were partially blinded. The angles of the beams were a little off. Ugh.

  "Good evening ladies and--" Johnny Tranquil started a greeting spiel but the others weren't having any of it.

  Rabbie was laying down a wicked beat and Neal's hands were flying on autopilot over the face and neck of his guitar. Si's bass started pouring out a hot familiar rhythm and they were flying into their first song, whether Johnny liked it or not.

  Johnny's greeting faded away and I heard him clear his throat as he got ready for his first lines of the evening as the band flew into the song Rush.

  The cheers from the crowd were lackluster. Not because they weren't excited - they were, but simply because most of them weren't ready yet.

  A successful show is a work of carefully managed art. You build anticipation and tension and have a suitable warmup act to get the crowd in the mood, to get them ready to rock. That wasn’t happening here. This so-called tour didn’t even have warm-up acts.

  The show started with entirely the wrong kind of vibe -- it wasn't angry or disappointed, more just simply an absence of any form of excitement as most of the audience were either not physically in the door, were still standing by the bar or weren't quite ready to rock yet.

  Oh well.

  Not my problem.

  The band flew through the first few songs in their set and the atmosphere improved. Cries of "I love you Neal", or "I'll get on my knees for you Johnny" flew from the crowd.

  I grinned at Jase and he held up his right hand in a rock salute. The boys were putting on a show now, even if it was a little lackluster, and when you feel the vibrations of loud music pouring through you and vibrating you to your very soul you can't help but grin. It's unavoidable.

  I knew something was wrong when Jase's grin dropped and his arms flew down. Look to my left. A shaven headed guy in leather is reaching up onto the stage, grabbing at Neal.

  Idiot. I didn't know what he was trying to achieve but he sure as shit wasn't going to manage it with us there. In half a second I'd dropped down beside him just as he managed to wrap his hands around the strap of Neal's guitar, who seeing the threat, had started to twist away.

  Bang. With five tightly closed fingers I let my fist fly and got him a good one right in the jaw. He didn't release his hand and a moment later I caught a good one right on the forehead. As the asshole fell he yanked down Neal with him whose guitar let out a surprised yell to match his own as he twisted and fell. He hugged his guitar protectively as he dropped and in doing so whipped the top of the neck against my forehead.

  The crowd scattered in front of me and then Everest was there, grabbing the guy with one hand and tucking him under his arm as he stormed out. The man was hanging under his arm, his face a picture of shock as he clutched at his jaw. I winced as I rubbed my knuckles with my other hand. I’d probably broken his jaw. Scratch that. No probably. Definitely. Good.

  My left hand went to my forehead and came away wet. Shit. Blood. Neal had cut me with his guitar when he fell and my face was rapidly turning into something you’d expect to see on The Walking Dead.

  "Alright, I think we're going to take a breather for a couple of minutes," announced Johnny from the stage.

  I offered a hand down to Neal to pull him up. He grimaced and refused. I was confused a moment then saw my hand was covered in red. Jase was there in a moment pulling Neal to his feet while BK and a couple of the Ragers kept the crowd around us at bay.

  There was noise and shouting and confusion all around and the audience were frea
king out.

  "Everyone, close your eyes. Take a deep breath in like this:" Johnny breathed in deeply to the microphone in a long, slow inhale.

  I looked around, some of the audience were doing the same.

  "And exhale, slowly." Johnny demonstrated a long slow outbreath as well.

  "In... and out..."

  The noise of the crowd rapidly subsided and was replaced by noisy meditative breathing.

  Jase looked at me with his best what the fuck look.

  I shrugged. "I don't know man. Johnny's gone all hippy since I knew him. He didn't used to be like that I swear."

  Jase laughed. "If it stops them rioting it's all good. Go out the back and sort your head out. You're leaking."

  I nodded.

  "You good, Neal?"

  He was standing by the edge of the stage. He was slightly shaken but seemed fine - nothing worse than a bruise where he'd fallen probably.

  Neal's response was to strum a riff on his guitar and grin. He then grabbed the top of his t-shirt which had developed a tear in the scuffle and ripped it open. He peeled the shredded t-shirt off his body revealing a surprisingly toned physique and some pretty bad-ass tats.

  Girls nearby shrieked and Neal blew them kisses before hopping back onto the stage. He was in full-on rock star mode now, exuding the aura that forms around a hot shirtless man with a guitar and makes women swoon.

  Neal’s fingers worked their magic on his guitar and as the riff rumbled through the crowd the calm breathing led by Johnny Tranquil stopped. On the stage he let out a disappointed sigh and the crowd laughed and began to whoop again as Rabbie started back on the drums.

  I went around the back of the stage as the concert began its revival to the welcome coolness of the green room aka the cellar. I hadn't realized how hot it was in the club until I was out of it.

  There was a sink I used to wash most of the blood off my face and I covered up my wound as best I could with the crappy supplies available in the green first aid kit that had been attached to the wall.