Chapter 2: After hours

       Tommy sat in the soundman's car after the show. The big man was rolling what he'd laughingly called a "left-handed" cigarette.

       Tommy watched the big man's deft fingers roll the cigarette into a perfect cylinder. He handed it to Tommy and cleaned up the little bits that had fallen.

       "So how long you been running sound?" Tommy eyed the white cylinder enviously. Rolling cigarettes was an art. His own cigarettes came out looking like an old Volkswagon.

       "Since 79," the big man sighed and sank deeper in the seat. He looked exhausted and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there a few hours before.

       "Leroy didn't lie," Tommy said ruefully, "You had us going in 20 minutes better than Jim did in three years. I had no idea our monitors could be so loud. My girlfriend said it's the best we ever sounded ever. She said it was like watching somebody else up there."

       "Your old soundman had the microphones mismatched," the big man shrugged. "Different frequency responses fuck with each other on the same line. All I had to do was switch the guitar mic for the vocal he was using." he smiled at the last.

       "Tommy shook his head. "How did you get a job at the Star."

       "I went to sound school. The guy who taught me has the account there. An opening came up, I submitted a resume, the guy saw the school and references and hired me on the spot." the big man shrugged. "It's been downhill ever since." He laughed once and handed Tommy a lighter.

       "What do you mean?" Tommy looked puzzled. "You don't like running sound there?"

       "Sound?" the big man scowled darkly. "What sound? I set it up and sound check it. Two minutes before the show begins, some guy I never saw before steps up and takes over. I sit in the back and drink beer. When the show's over, we tear it down and put it away. The next day, a new act arrives and we do the whole thing over. Day after day after day after day after..." his voice trailed off.

       "Yeah," Tommy lit the cigarette and took a bit drag off it. His eyes widened suddenly. What was this?! He started coughing violently. The big man watched him with a small smile.

       "Kinda grabs ya by the short ones, don't it," the big man chuckled. "That shit'll knock yer dick in the dirt if ya ain't careful." he took it from Tommy and took a big drag. He didn't cough and let it out slowly through his nose.

       Tommy finished coughing and wiped his eyes, "What the Hell is that?" he took the cigarette back and stared at it for a second with an incredulous look. "Where did you get this?"

       The big man smiled, "I got some friends who grow this shit underneath a warehouse in South Chicago."

       "What?" Tommy's eyes bulged. "Are you kiddin'?"

       The big man looked at his watch, "I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet someone in Laporte in half an hour."

       "Huh?" Tommy took another puff. "Everything's closed."

       "Not everything," the big man laughed. "There's an after-hours place if you know somebody." the big man made a shooing motion. "Now! Getthe fuck outta my fuckin' out of my car," he said with mock severity, laughing. "Take that hooter with ya. I'm in a hurry. I was supposed to be there 2 hours ago, but I wound up stuck here working." the big man frowned. "As usual... damn Leroy. I told him about this shit."

        Tommy was somewhat taken aback. He wasn't used to this sort of dismissive attitude. He was, after all, the singer. "What?" he asked reproachfully. "You didn't like us?"

       "I dunno," the big man shrugged. "I really wasn't paying attention to you guys all that much."

        "What do you mean?" Tommy was mystified now.

        "I'm the soundman," the big man replied, shrugging again. "I don't watch. I listen. Now get the fuck outta here! You're going to make me late for real."

        "What about your pay?" Tommy grabbed for the door handle.

        "Leroy already took care of it," the soundman waved. "Hurry up! I'm gonna be late for real."

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        The soundman beat his fist on the back door of the Rusty Gutbucket. As he waited, he dug an old frayed business card out of his wallet. When the tiny window opened, all he had to do was show this card and he would be let inside. Only members had these.

       He waited. And waited. He frowned. Something was off. He pounded the door with his huge fist again.

       Nothing. What the hell was going on?

       He walked around to the front of the building. It looked the same. This had been an after-hours club for years. The owner was a personal friend. He'd heard nothing about this.

       A horn beeped twice in quick succession. The soundman's heads whipped around; startled. An old tattered-looking blue Volvo station wagon sat across the street. The driver rolled the window down and a raven-haired woman started waving at him frantically, signaling him to come closer.

        "Pat!", she waved and waved. "This way."

        The soundman approached the car. Lisa? Why wasn't she inside working the bar?

       "What the fuck?!" he pointed at the shabby-looking bar front. "Where's Rusty?"

        "Get in," she looked haunted. "I'll tell ya all about it."

        "I ain't got time to go home with you," he replied flatly. "You can tell me now."

        "I have a boyfriend now," she sniffed derisively, looking up and down her nose at him. "Rusty's gone."

         "Gone?" he frowned. "Gone where?"

         She blinked twice and bit her lower lip. "They found him floating in Lake Michigan a week ago. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you for months."

       "I spoke to Rusty on the phone a month ago." he pointed at the building. "Do you have your keys with you?"

  
       "Yeah," she replied, shrugging. "Why?"

       "Open it," he grated. "I want to see what's been going on."

       "Huh?" her brow furrowed. "How you going to do that?"

        "By looking at the tapes of the security system I put there in secret at his request," he smiled nastily. "He thought people were stealing when he wasn't around." he smiled wider.

        "I didn't know that," she seemed to shrink in her seat.

       "C'mon," he said opening the car door and holding out his hand so she could take it. "Before the cops show up and ask us what the fuck we're doing standing out here."

                                                                                     ...................................................................

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