Bandwagon

by Andrew Fish

standing by the fountain. There was nothing particularly distinctive about him – the smoker in his hand looked perhaps slightly at odds with the quality his suede jacket exuded – but as an island of calm in a sea of activity it seemed natural to notice him. The man, in return, noticed Ben, briefly catching his eye before looking, slightly hurriedly, away.

  Ben shrugged and hurried to catch up with Vid.

  ‘Which suites are we in?’ he called.

  Riff paused to read the numbers from their keycards. ‘312 and 313,’ he said. He passed Nutter one of the cards. ‘Probably best if you and Ben take one and we’ll take the other.’ Nutter fumbled with the key, but a reflexive action from Keys prevented him dropping it. Once he was certain the drummer’s grip was sound, he hurried to follow Riff and Vid into their room. Two porters rolled quietly in behind.

  ‘G-guess t-that sorts out the r-room arrangements,’ said Nutter, passing Ben the card.

  ‘Seems that way, doesn’t it,’ said Ben. He opened the door and stood back to let the remaining porter to float into the room. The robot deposited his suitcase, nodded politely, and passing the pair on its way out, closed the door behind it. Ben approached the first suitcase and hefted it onto the bed.

  ‘I d-didn’t think you h-had any l-luggage,’ said Nutter.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Ben. ‘Tony picked some up for me.’ He opened the case and frowned.

  ‘S-something wrong?’

  Ben lifted out a pair of hangers. On one was a shirt whose design was not entirely dissimilar to their van. On the other was a pair of pink trousers, narrow at the waist, baggy, and oddly wide at the ankle. He presented them wordlessly to the drummer.

  ‘N-not to your t-taste?’

  ‘Not to anyone’s I’d have thought.’ Ben cast them aside and pulled out a red jacket.

  ‘That l-looks n-nice.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Ben non-commitally. He turned it over in his hands.

  ‘W-what’s that on it?’

  ‘It seems to have the lyrics to Listening to Nothing stitched on it.’

  ‘W-why? D-does T-tony think you’ll f-forget them?’

  ‘No idea.’ He put it aside and reached in again. Quickly discarding a white suit with silver spangles he pulled out a pale grey outfit.

  ‘That’s a bit more like it,’ he muttered.

  ‘T-that one’s got no c-collar,’ said Nutter.

  Ben looked at it more closely. ‘I don’t think it was meant to,’ he said. ‘Probably look alright with a shirt and tie, though.’

  In the event it didn’t look too bad, although Ben’s hair was perhaps a little too long and the freshly starched shirt scratched the back of his neck. He fidgeted as he waited in the wings for their cue to take the stage.

  ‘You’re looking smart tonight,’ observed Vid.

  ‘It’s called being professional,’ said Ben. He looked the robot over critically. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to go for a wax polish.’

  The venue was small and crowded, but this seemed to give it a feeling of electricity – although this might equally have been caused by the rather poorly-maintained lighting rig which periodically arced in a worrying manner.

  Whatever the reason, the band decided once more to eschew their set-piece opening number and launched instead into the explosive opening rhythm of She Was Standing Over There. Ben had, after several night’s practice and a great many throat lozenges, now mastered the gravely texture this song seemed to demand, and this together with Riff’s blisteringly fast guitar solo ensured the audience were hooked on the stage from the start. By the time Listening to Nothing ended, the bar had almost closed – so little alcohol was being consumed.

  The show ended to rapturous applause, and as the band gave their closing bow, Ben’s attention was again drawn by a figure who stood immobile in the chaos. Standing by the bar, smoker in hand, was a man in a suede jacket. Ben frowned: was this some kind of fashionable movement (or lack of one), or was this man one and the same as the man in the hotel lobby. He was still musing on this when the band returned to the hotel.

  Keys observed him quizzically as they waited for the elevator. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Ben looked up, slightly startled. He glanced about him several times before looking to the robot.

  ‘You seem out of sorts,’ said Keys.

  ‘Did you see a man in a suede coat?’

  ‘Where? Here or at the gig?’

  ‘Either. Both.’

  Keys considered this. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t think so. Why? Who is he?’

  ‘I don’t know… it’s just. I think he was watching us.’

  ‘Well, of course he was – if he was at the gig.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I mean he was watching us here.’

  Keys shrugged. ‘I suspect we look a little unusual,’ he said. ‘Besides, it wouldn’t be that strange for a guest in the hotel to have been to our gig, would it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Ben conceded with a sigh. ‘It’s just… I don’t know.’

  The door to the elevator opened and the band entered. Nutter leaned on the elevator rail, nodding his head in time to the elevator music. Riff looked at the drummer and shook his head. ‘Falistian18,’ he muttered.

  Keys hovered by the door and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

  ‘You know,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t think he was here for the gig.’

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Riff.

  ‘Ben thinks he’s got a groupie,’ said Keys.

  ‘What’s she like?’ said Vid.

  ‘It’s a he,’ said Ben, and ignoring the response this elicited, ‘and he’s not a groupie. He didn’t clap once during the gig.’

  ‘Well, if he’s not there for the music.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s just a critic,’ said Riff. ‘They never clap anything. Where’s Tony tonight?’

  ‘I think he’s got rooms in the other wing,’ said Ben. ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Riff. ‘Just you talking about suspicious characters, that’s all.’

  Ben groaned. ‘You’re not still on about that, are you?’

  ‘You mean you trust him?’

  ‘He’s kept his word, hasn’t he? We’re getting gigs. And he’s checked us in here.’

  ‘Well, you’re a trusting sort, aren’t you?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Because leopards don’t change their spots – not unless they get skinned, anyway.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You heard him this morning. He threatened to burn that other place down.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was just angry.’

  ‘Yes, because arson is so much worse when it’s committed by a calm man.’

  Ben looked around the band for support. None was immediately forthcoming. Even Nutter simply shrugged. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he snapped. ‘You all think he’s up to something.’

  ‘That’s because he is,’ said Vid. ‘It’s just a question of what.’

  ‘Well I don’t want to believe that.’

  ‘I think that’s the rather the problem,’ said Riff.

  The lift pinged gently as it came to a halt. Ben shook his head and stepped toward the doors. Before he had gone more than a few yards, however, he found himself stopped in his tracks by a man in a suede jacket. Seen close up for the first time, Ben noticed that he had rather square features, right down to a flat-topped haircut. The man held out a hand to arrest Ben’s progress.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said quietly. ‘Nice to meet you at last.’

  ‘Is this your groupie?’ asked Vid.

  ‘He’s not my…’ Ben trailed off.

  ‘Perhaps he just wants the lift,’ said Keys, but the man was making no effort to pass them.

  ‘No, gentlemen,’ said the man. ‘It’s you I’m here to see.’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t give autographs outside the gigs,’ said Riff.

  The man said nothin
g.

  ‘When you say “see us…”’ Ben began slowly.

  ‘I mean see you,’ said the man. ‘Although, not actually you.’

  ‘No?’

  The man shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean them.’ He nodded toward Keys and Vid. Keys floated involuntarily backwards.

  Vid, made of sterner stuff, rolled forward. ‘Who sent you?’ he demanded.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ said the man.

  ‘What do you want with them?’ said Riff, also stepping forward.

  ‘That is also none of your business. So, if you’d care to step aside, we can consider our business concluded.’

  ‘We’re not considering any such thing,’ said Ben.

  The man shrugged and took his smoker from his pocket. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘I have no instructions concerning you, which means I am allowed to use my own… discretion.’ There was a heaviness of tone which brooked no misinterpretation.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ben. ‘There’s five of us and only one of you.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Indeed. So if you want to try anything, you’ll have to go through all of us first. Right Nutter?’

  Nutter said nothing, but looked at Ben solemnly.

  ‘Nutter?’

  The robot shook his head. The man’s snort drew Ben’s gaze back to him.

  ‘You don’t know much about robots, do you?’ said the man. ‘They can’t hurt humans – it’s programmed into them.’ He leaned casually against the wall, put his smoker to his mouth and pressed the ignite button. After taking a long drag he lowered his arm to his side and breathed out deeply. The smoke made Ben choke.

  ‘I myself,’ the man continued, ‘have no such limitations. So, unless you’re prepared to risk yourself for the sake of your metal friends, I would suggest you leave us. Now.’

  Before Ben could respond to this there was a loud