“I agree,” Jake said. “Not everybody can have the Nerdlys though.”
“Perhaps I’ll offer to set up his sound for him tomorrow,” Nerdly suggested.
“I’m not sure that’s a real good idea, Bill,” Pauline warned.
“The worst thing that can happen is that he says no,” Nerdly said.
“No, the worst thing that could happen is that he beats your face in,” Jake said.
“I don’t think Matt would do that,” Nerdly said. “Not after I informed him of the existence of internet pornography. I am going to make the offer. My mind is made up.”
“All right,” Jake said doubtfully. “Just be sure you finish our sound check before you ask him so if he puts you in the hospital, we’ll already be dialed in.”
“Will do,” Nerdly said, in all seriousness.
“What about Pantera’s sound guy?” asked Obie. “Were you able to hunt him down and give him a piece of your mind?”
“I tried,” Nerdly said with a sigh. “The band and their crew had already left the venue by the time I was able to go look for him.”
“That’s too bad,” Obie said with a chuckle.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Nerdly said. “I will seek him out just before they perform what passes as their sound check and explain to him that proper balance of volume and ranges does not mean you simply turn all the knobs, switches, and levers to ten.”
“I’m guessing that will be news to him,” Jake said, making a mental note to accompany Nerdly on that particular mission in case of violence.
They arrived back at the hotel/casino at 11:30 PM. The casino floor was still crowded with gamblers and the cafes were still open. No one wanted to eat or gamble though. They had eaten catered food before leaving Indian Springs and they all had to get up at 6:30 for the next full day of waiting around and then performing.
They said their good nights to each other and headed upstairs to their rooms.
There was another show to do tomorrow.
Chapter 11: The Water Recedes
Indian Springs, Nevada
September 28, 1996
Matt was tired and moderately hungover as he and his band reported for their morning sound check on Stage 1 at 9:00 AM. He had been up until nearly 4:00 AM and had been awakened at 7:30 to get ready for his 8:00 AM pickup. He and the boys had not even made it back to the hotel room until nearly 2:00 AM and had partied it up in Austin’s room after finally making it there.
We’ll do the sound check and then my ass is climbing into that bed in the trailer and getting some sleep, Matt thought as he mounted the stage. He was wearing a tattered pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt. He long hair was uncombed and somewhat ratty in appearance. He wore a pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes from the brutal glare of the desert sun off to the east. The rest of the band were dressed pretty similarly, except for Corban, who had taken the time to dress in a fashionable shirt and spike his hair with gel.
Roland Argyle was the head of concert sound for Matt’s crew. He and his team of three technicians had been flown to Vegas at Music Alive’s expense along with a team of six roadies (Matt had negotiated that into his contract). Argyle—who like to be called Rollie—was short, chubby, and sported a full beard and long hair, which made him look a little bit like a short, chubby version of the traditional Jesus. He was not someone that Matt had hired to be in charge of his sound on the road, but someone that National had assigned. He was adequate at his position, but that was about it. He certainly could not hold a candle to the Nerdlys.
“Hey, Matt. Hey, boys,” he greeted as they took their positions on the stage.
“Hey, Rollie,” Matt said unenthusiastically, walking over to where his microphone stand was situated. The rest of the band offered similar greetings.
“I still have all the settings marked from last night’s performance,” Rollie told them. “This shouldn’t take long at all. It’ll be mostly a verification process.”
“Well ... yeah, about that,” Matt said. “Last night’s sound kind of sucked.”
“Sucked?” Rollie said, clearly taken aback by this suggestion.
“Sucked,” Matt repeated. “As in it slurped the big fuckin’ schlong. It wasn’t as bad as Pantera’s, but it sounded like a pile of dogshit when held up against how Kingsley’s sound team had him dialed in.”
“But ... but Kingsley has the Nerdlys,” Rollie said, nearly whispering their name, speaking it the one does when talking about a worshiped deity.
“Yes, he does,” a voice said from the stage left entrance.
It was a familiar voice and Matt knew who it was even before he turned to look. Sure enough, Nerdly and Mrs. Nerdly were both standing there. Both were dressed in jeans and baggy pullover t-shirts. Two of the security guys were flanking them, obviously distressed that they had made it up here. They had not put their hands on them yet, but they would if Matt gave them the nod. Matt did not give the nod—at least not yet. He noticed that Nerdly had a bruise on his cheek and some swelling under his left eye that would soon become a pretty decent shiner. He also had some sort of brace on his right wrist.
“Nerdly,” Matt said, taking a step toward him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Matt,” the lead security guy told him. “They used their all-access passes to get past the first layer and then they just strolled up here like they belonged. We didn’t notice them until they were actually at the door.”
“Well, it’s a good thing they weren’t a couple of crazy-ass psychos with a gun, isn’t it?” Matt asked.
“It won’t happen again,” the man promised. “Shall we eject them?”
“In a minute,” Matt said, stepping a little closer. He stopped just in front of the skinny, nerdy sound genius and his wife. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“The bruises and the wrist brace?” Nerdly asked. “I had a bit of a fisticuff with Pantera’s sound engineer and two of their roadies.”
“A fisticuff with Pantera’s roadies?” Matt asked incredulously. “Three of them? You?”
“It started off just with me,” Nerdly explained. “You see, I went to try to advise their sound team on how they might better perform their duties and make the band sound like something other than incomprehensible noise that does nothing but blast everyone’s eardrums. Jake came along with me just in case things led to violence, which, as it turned out, they did.”
“What the fuck happened?” Matt asked.
“You know how it is,” Nerdly said in a wise-to-the-ways-of-the-world voice. “The lead engineer did not appreciate my suggestions. I wanted to appeal to Dimebag Darrel or maybe Vinnie Paul—you know, his brother who plays the drums for the band—but they were not even there. Apparently, they do not attend their own sound checks.”
“Yeah, listening to how they sounded last night, I can believe that shit,” Matt said.
“Anyway,” Nerdly went on, “I persisted in explaining how they could improve their basic sound, but the lead engineer did not want to hear it. He became downright hostile. Words were exchanged. And then he said something extremely insulting to Sharon and I was obligated to defend her honor using physical violence.”
“You started the fight?” Matt asked.
“And finished it,” Sharon said, her eyes shining a little. “He put that engineer on the ground in five seconds flat. And then two of the other roadies came over to get in on it and he knocked one off the stage and dropped the other one with a very impressive back kick.”
“A back kick?” Matt nearly screamed. “You? You put down three fuckin’ roadies?”
“I have been studying Renbukai karate for nearly fifteen years now, Matt,” Nerdly told him, pronouncing it ‘ka-rot-ay’, with a distinct roll on the R. “It is a particularly good method of obtaining discipline and focus as well as aerobic exercise. I’ve never had occasion to use it outside of sparring practice in the dojo, but when Sharon’s honor required defense, it came in quite handy, although I did sprain my wrist quite badly when I punched the first roadie in the face. I did not have time to properly stretch out and limber up before engaging in combat.”