Ricky walked into the studio lounge and assessed. Vic was slumped in a chair, Bo lay on the sofa, drowsily poring over a sex toy catalog, and Lazaro had inexplicably brought his bass drum to the meeting and sat dozing against it. Only Nevin seemed to notice or care that Ricky had arrived, and his perky smile was strained.
“Glad you all could make it,” Ricky said, pretending he had everyone’s attention. “Where’s Kalila?”
Vic opened one eye and gestured at the lamp on the coffee table.
Ricky picked it up and rubbed it with his cuff. “Wake up. Meeting, remember?”
“You're being too nice,” Vic snarled. He grabbed the lamp and shook it. “Get out of there, bitch, so we can have this meeting and go to bed!”
Sparks and smoke erupted out of the lamp and Vic dropped it to the table with a clatter.
“You blood-sucking bastard!” Kalila morphed out of the smoke and advanced on Vic in a blaze of djinn fury. “One of these days I’ll stake you and then you’ll be sorry.”
“You think I’m afraid of you? You’re just a freak who eats air.”
“You should be scared, because—”
Ricky waved his hands. “Could you two save it until after the meeting? I don’t want to be here either, so listen up, because this is important.”
Kalila folded her arms and gave him a cool look while Vic slinked back to his chair and feigned boredom.
“It’s about what happened at the show last night.” Ricky wished he felt certain of everyone’s attention, but Bo was perusing his catalog again, Lazaro was toying with a drum stick, and Vic was pretending fascination with a ceiling panel. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t care whose meal you thought she was, but I’ve talked to your lawyer and she suggested we pay the medical bills as a goodwill gesture.”
Kalila shrugged. “So do it.”
“We have no use for money,” Vic added, “Other than to buy off whiney humans. She didn’t even taste good.”
Bo frowned. “I thought she did. And money has other uses, like for buying things out of this catalog. The ‘Deluxe Dominator 3’ costs $29.95.”
“Shipping and handling?”
“Shipping is $4.95. I’ll do the handling myself.”
“Uh, guys,” Ricky said, “I think we’ve wandered off topic. The reason I called this meeting was to remind you how important it is to be careful with your fans. Between the lawyer, the medical bills, the possible lawsuit—”
“And bribing the witnesses,” Vic added.
“I ate two of them,” Lazaro said.
Vic brightened. “There you go, Ricky. We’re saving money already.”
Ricky bit his lip and considered. Was this conversation worth pursuing? Could he ever hope to make them understand?
As if reading his mind, Kalila said, “We get it, Ricky. Really. But damage control is part of your job. It’s in your contract.” When he didn’t answer, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “So other than the incident with the girl, what did you think of the show? We rocked, didn’t we?”
Ricky started to say something cutting, but caught himself. What would be the point? “Yeah,” he admitted. “You rock.”
Maelstrom Extra: A Problem
Thursday, March 5, 2009
reviews (Comments): 3
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Maelstrom
Ricky checked his watch. He was late, but luckily the band was becoming more punctual. It had been awhile since he caught them napping or rambling about in search of prey when they should be getting set up for a show. The sight of the equipment van in the alley reassured him and he waved at one of the werewolf crew before pushing through the service door.
His first order of business was to check in with the manager and exchange the standard pleasantries. Finding no one in the office, Ricky headed toward the club to see how the setup was coming along. The manager would probably be there, and if he wasn’t, someone might know—
“There you are.” Kalila said, appearing out of nowhere like the damnable djinn she was. “We have a problem.”
Ricky looked at her. “Please tell me Bo didn’t already seduce someone.”
“Only one of the cleanup crew.” She waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “No, I’m afraid this is more serious. Lazaro ate—” she called into the darkness of the drummer alcove. “What was his name, again?”
“Ken Blakely!” Lazaro shouted back.
Ricky leaped onto the stage, stomped past Vic and Nevin, and found the drummer placidly hanging a cymbal. “You ate the venue manager? This is a joke, right?”
Lazaro shrugged his big shoulders. “He came back here and messed with my drums.”
Vic stopped adjusting a microphone. “It was his own damn fault. He went back there to look at the drum setup, tripped like the clumsy primate he was, and knocked over the hi-hat.”
“Genuine Zildjian cymbals,” Lazaro muttered.
“But…you don’t avenge simple human mistakes like that. This is totally inappropriate and—”
Lazaro snarled.
“Better watch it,” Vic said, baring his fangs. “You know what he’s like in this kind of mood.”
Regrettably, Ricky did know. “Well …did you at least hide the remains?”
“Of course,” Lazaro snorted. “I’m not stupid.”
“We’re not worried about your human laws and morals,” Kalila said, walking across the stage and picking up her guitar. “And we’re not concerned about tonight. Places like this practically run themselves.”
Ricky ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, so if you’re not worried about any of the things a normal person would worry about, why did you ruin my day by mentioning it? You said there was a problem.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a problem, human,” Vic said.
Kalila nodded. “Now that the manager is dinner…”
“Please don’t call him that.”
“More like a snack, anyway,” Lazaro said.
“I don’t need to hear—”
“Get over it, human,” Vic snarled.
Ricky turned back to Kalila. “Just tell me what you think the problem is.”
Kalila blinked as if the answer were obvious. “How are we going to get paid?”
His first order of business was to check in with the manager and exchange the standard pleasantries. Finding no one in the office, Ricky headed toward the club to see how the setup was coming along. The manager would probably be there, and if he wasn’t, someone might know—
“There you are.” Kalila said, appearing out of nowhere like the damnable djinn she was. “We have a problem.”
Ricky looked at her. “Please tell me Bo didn’t already seduce someone.”
“Only one of the cleanup crew.” She waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “No, I’m afraid this is more serious. Lazaro ate—” she called into the darkness of the drummer alcove. “What was his name, again?”
“Ken Blakely!” Lazaro shouted back.
Ricky leaped onto the stage, stomped past Vic and Nevin, and found the drummer placidly hanging a cymbal. “You ate the venue manager? This is a joke, right?”
Lazaro shrugged his big shoulders. “He came back here and messed with my drums.”
Vic stopped adjusting a microphone. “It was his own damn fault. He went back there to look at the drum setup, tripped like the clumsy primate he was, and knocked over the hi-hat.”
“Genuine Zildjian cymbals,” Lazaro muttered.
“But…you don’t avenge simple human mistakes like that. This is totally inappropriate and—”
Lazaro snarled.
“Better watch it,” Vic said, baring his fangs. “You know what he’s like in this kind of mood.”
Regrettably, Ricky did know. “Well …did you at least hide the remains?”
“Of course,” Lazaro snorted. “I’m not stupid.”
“We’re not worried about your human laws and morals,” Kalila said, walking across the stage and picking up her guitar. “And we’re not concerned about tonight. Places like this practically run themselves.”
Ricky ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, so if you’re not worried about any of the things a normal person would worry about, why did you ruin my day by mentioning it? You said there was a problem.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a problem, human,” Vic said.
Kalila nodded. “Now that the manager is dinner…”
“Please don’t call him that.”
“More like a snack, anyway,” Lazaro said.
“I don’t need to hear—”
“Get over it, human,” Vic snarled.
Ricky turned back to Kalila. “Just tell me what you think the problem is.”
Kalila blinked as if the answer were obvious. “How are we going to get paid?”
Maelstrom Extra: Once Lost, Twice Found
Sunday, March 1, 2009
reviews (Comments): 3
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Maelstrom
Ricky fumbled in the dresser drawer, thinking how he needed to do laundry since most of his clean socks were old, the wrong color, or had holes. He found a pair that might do, but when he pulled the balled socks apart, something fell out.
It was a watch.
Not just any watch, but a stainless steel Omega with gold markers and hands. It had a clean, futuristic design common to when it was made in the 1950s. And Ricky knew when it had been made because it had been his father’s watch, and his grandfather’s.
That was a problem.
Ricky now remembered having wedged the watch into a sock in his suitcase when they stayed at a questionable hotel on tour nearly a year ago. He then promptly forgot what he had done and tore the room apart, convinced that it had been lost or stolen. Distraught and irritable, he moped at concerts and snapped at the band until a week later, Kalila casually handed him the watch, saying Nevin had found it on the tour bus. How it got there, Ricky wasn’t sure, nor did he care. He was so thrilled to have it back he didn’t question her story, but now…
He set the watch on the bed and opened another drawer. And yes, here was the watch again. He held it to the light. Same steel case, same gold dial, even the same patina on the back and wear on the leather strap.
He laid it next to the other and examined them side-by-side. Even the nick in the crystal was the same.
This would never do.
He tugged on his socks, and found his shoes and jacket. Then he shoved both watches in his pocket, grabbed his keys, and headed out to the car. But as he slammed the car door shut and reached for the seatbelt, a thought struck him. Yes, the band had lied to him, and maybe they had replaced his watch just so he would shut up about it. But there was a sweetness to the gesture, too. There were other ways they could’ve dealt with his moping than by conjuring an exact replica so he could be happy again.
And it was an exact replica. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the two watches, marveling all over again at how alike they were. In fact, there was no way to tell which was which.
No way at all.
For a long moment, he sat numbed by his own stupidity. Then he picked one, wound it up, and held it to his ear, charmed as he had been as a child, by its ticking.
Lost once, found twice, and both times special.
It was a watch.
Not just any watch, but a stainless steel Omega with gold markers and hands. It had a clean, futuristic design common to when it was made in the 1950s. And Ricky knew when it had been made because it had been his father’s watch, and his grandfather’s.
That was a problem.
Ricky now remembered having wedged the watch into a sock in his suitcase when they stayed at a questionable hotel on tour nearly a year ago. He then promptly forgot what he had done and tore the room apart, convinced that it had been lost or stolen. Distraught and irritable, he moped at concerts and snapped at the band until a week later, Kalila casually handed him the watch, saying Nevin had found it on the tour bus. How it got there, Ricky wasn’t sure, nor did he care. He was so thrilled to have it back he didn’t question her story, but now…
He set the watch on the bed and opened another drawer. And yes, here was the watch again. He held it to the light. Same steel case, same gold dial, even the same patina on the back and wear on the leather strap.
He laid it next to the other and examined them side-by-side. Even the nick in the crystal was the same.
This would never do.
He tugged on his socks, and found his shoes and jacket. Then he shoved both watches in his pocket, grabbed his keys, and headed out to the car. But as he slammed the car door shut and reached for the seatbelt, a thought struck him. Yes, the band had lied to him, and maybe they had replaced his watch just so he would shut up about it. But there was a sweetness to the gesture, too. There were other ways they could’ve dealt with his moping than by conjuring an exact replica so he could be happy again.
And it was an exact replica. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the two watches, marveling all over again at how alike they were. In fact, there was no way to tell which was which.
No way at all.
For a long moment, he sat numbed by his own stupidity. Then he picked one, wound it up, and held it to his ear, charmed as he had been as a child, by its ticking.
Lost once, found twice, and both times special.
