“Then we are in trouble,” she said. “Because he’s the one who gets us our drugs.”
Johnny pulled a face. “Shit.”
“Yeah, he’s very much part of it. His name’s Richard Chazz. He’s one of the best in the business, but he’s in way over his head.”
“Money-wise or drug-wise?”
Ah, now there was the question. “Both. In fact, he’s dropped out of sight. Nobody’s heard from him in nearly two weeks.”
“What gives?”
It took some time to tell.
Chazz hadn’t gotten to where he was on his good looks or business acumen, though he was pretty loaded on the latter. Half of the ride to the top had been accomplished through connections and loans. Both were accomplished by the same group of people. The same people that kept upping the interest and kept wanting a bigger chunk of his management company and, ultimately, his bands.
“What? Like the Mafia or something?”
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. But they’re heavy people. They’re into the entertainment industry at every conceivable level. He never put a name to them. He always mentioned shit about his silent partners and things like that. When we asked questions, he got nervous. I’m pretty sure he gets our drugs from these people.”
Johnny shook his head. “What the hell was he thinking getting involved with those hoods?”
Lisa sighed. “Richard is good, Johnny. But he’s also hungry all the time. He isn’t above shady deals to promote himself or his product, in this case, us. Electric Witch.”
“And now he’s disappeared?” Johnny asked hesitantly. “You think maybe—”
“No, at least I hope not. All I know is that last month before he took his little powder, he was a nervous wreck. Thought he was being followed. Jumped every time his cell rang. He hired bodyguards. He was coked-up and paranoid.” She let that lay a moment while she sorted it out in her head. “Bottom line is we have trouble right now. We got lawyers and record execs and road managers climbing up our ass. We’ve been so wasted, we don’t know shit about the business side.”
“Get another manager.”
“We have contracts.”
“How about the cops? The feds? Can’t you go to them?”
She shook her head. “You fuck with these people, you’re done. That’s what I’ve been told. I don’t mean they kill you or anything like that. They don’t have to: they just kill your career. Pretty soon the deals aren’t happening. Record execs don’t want you. You have a hell of a time getting studio time. And touring? Forget it, dates are cancelled. Your road crew, which are all union by the way, boycott you. It’s happened before. And if all that isn’t bad enough, we’re so trashed all the time, we can’t make sense of it. And maybe we don’t want to.”
“Shit,” Johnny said.
“All I know is it was getting crazy in LA, so I bailed. Came home. Came home to see my parents… and look what I walked into? I think they might be dead.”
Johnny squeezed her long-fingered hand in his own callused mitt, said in his deep, resonant voice, “Let’s get out of this first, rock star. Then we’ll worry about the next step.”
Lisa attempted a smile. “You need a job, Johnny?” she said to him. “You ever thought about managing a heavy metal band?”
“Put that out for chrissake,” Joe said. “Keep your head clean.”
Ruby Sue roached her joint. “Not like we’re gonna get busted, babe. I think all the cops in this town are running around naked, foaming at the mouth and pissing on hydrants.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“I hear you, I hear you.”
Joe sat there, thinking, plotting it out in his mind. There was no going back so it simply had to happen. He couldn’t go back to Detroit unless the deed was done. And if that meant that everyone in the room had to—
“How you two holding up?”
Joe looked up, saw that Lou-guy standing there, the salesman. He wasn’t a bad sort, but he was just another problem in Joe’s mind. Who would ever have dreamed it would get this fucked up? A simple job like this?
“We’re holding,” Ruby Sue said.
Joe nodded.
Lou looked a little uncomfortable. “Hey, I think my lighter puked out on me. Could I borrow yours?”
“Sure, man,” Ruby Sue handed one to him. “Keep it.”
“Thanks.”
Joe was suddenly aware that Lou was staring at his bare arms.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking… but is that an Outlaws tattoo there?” Lou said.
Joe wished then he’d kept his coat on. He covered it with his hand. “Yeah, I rode with them in the old days. I got out, though. Those boys were getting a little wild for me.”
Lou nodded, seemed satisfied.
Over on the sofa, Nancy was thrashing in her sleep, moaning and bathed with sweat. Ben was at her side, mopping her down with a cool washcloth.
“Poor kid,” Lou said. “It’s been rough on her.”
“Yeah,” Ruby Sue said, “and I don’t think it’s going to get any better.”
Lou thanked her and left the two of them.
“Hate to say it,” he said, seated over near the fireplace now with Lisa and Johnny, “but that Joe fellow, he ain’t the friendliest.”
“I think he’ll be good to have around if the shit starts,” Johnny said.
Lisa nodded. “Christ, he’s a frigging giant.”
Lou said, “You check out his tattoos? He was with the Outlaws. You guys know who they are, don’t you?”
“Outlaw bikers,” Johnny said. “I knew some in Milwaukee.”
“Those guys are bad news. Criminals, I guess. Hooked up pretty tight in the underworld like the Angels and the Pagans and the rest.” Lou saw they weren’t really interested, but pressed on undeterred. “What do you suppose these two came to Cut River for?”
Johnny shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Gypsies, man. They like to move around.”
But Lou didn’t believe that; Ben had told him that Ruby Sue said they’d come to do some work, that they had a lot of guns. But he supposed it didn’t really matter. Right now, they needed every gun freak they could dig up. And then some. Dawn was a long way off yet.
That conversational track was a dead end, so Lou tried to lighten things up. “Hey?” he said. “You ever hear about the guy who walks into the bar with the crocodile?”
Johnny grinned. “No, but I want to. I could handle a joke.”
“Yeah,” Lisa said, warming up, too.
Lou cleared his throat. “Okay. Guy walks into this bar with a crocodile at his side. Right away, of course, people gather. So the guy says: ‘I can put my dick in his mouth, let him close it, and when he opens it, my dick’ll still be there. Untouched.’ The croc’s got its jaws wide now and everyone’s checking out those teeth. Look like they could shred tin cans. ‘Do it then,’ someone says. ‘Fifty bucks up front,’ says the guy. The money appears and the guy unzips his pants and sticks his horn right in the croc’s mouth. He smacks it on the head with a beer bottle and it closes its jaws. People cringe, but the guys still smiling. He smacks the croc with the bottle again and he opens his mouth. The guy’s prick is still there, not so much as a scratch on it. Okay. So he says, ‘Anyone else wanna try?’ This woman walks up and says, ‘Okay,’ getting down on her knees, ‘just don’t hit me in the head with that bottle.’”
Everyone was laughing and it felt really good to laugh.