[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
making. That in and of itself wasn t all that odd, since it was the A&R guy s job to
make sure things were moving smoothly. But Rabin couldn t shake the feeling that
something else was going on. He tried to keep his feelings under wraps. Kept
reminding himself that this was a huge chance and a big opportunity. There were
Indigo Knights 1: Squire 109
thousands of bands who d give their nuts for the chance they d been given. He tried
to enjoy being able to live his craft.
After three weeks, it was almost impossible to try anymore.
* * *
Rabin stood in the early twilight of a claustrophobic back-alley entrance to a
seedy little nightclub, ignoring the reek of urine and refuse from the trash bins
behind him as he stared at Arthur, dumbfounded. He wasn t alone. Zane and
Markus stood beside him, Sam loitering somewhere a few feet away.
Zane spoke for him, for all of them. What?
Arthur, a generically good-looking man in his early forties, with light blond
hair that disguised the touch of gray, had the grace to look ashamed. He leaned on
the door frame, playing up looking dejected. I m sorry, guys. I had no idea. The
owner double booked for tonight.
Disgusted, Rabin turned away, leaving Zane and Markus to talk to Arthur.
The club behind him was supposed to be their venue for the night, a place to loosen
up and start to get their name known again. It was one of the few things he d looked
forward to, because at least it was a chance to play in front of an audience instead of
dealing with the frustration and isolation of the studio. But even that small thing
had been yanked from him.
Sam appeared beside him and leaned on the dusty brick wall as he pulled out
a pack of cigarettes. Well, that bites, don t it?
Rabin didn t look at him, afraid he couldn t hide his disgust. Sam had been a
junkie when they were on tour, but Rabin had thought had been told it was
under control, so he d overlooked it. How stupid of him to believe. Now Sam showed
signs of his addiction. His brown hair was lank, his hazel eyes droopy and glassy.
The corner of his mouth had a funny twitch, and his skin color just did not look
good. Rabin didn t know what Sam was on, but he would swear the man was dying
from it. Sam could still play, thank God, but he wasn t much for suggesting
anything new. In the studio, he sat at his kit when they could get him to focus
110 Jet Mykles
and played what he was told. At night& Well, Rabin had learned the first night
that he didn t want to be in Sam s company when they weren t in the studio.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Rabin turned to face Zane and Markus or
Zane, at least. Rabin tried not to make eye contact with Markus. The bass player
had been self-righteous before, but he was insufferable now. Once they d arrived in
LA, Rabin and Zane had discovered that it was Markus who d gotten in touch with
Arthur and who d sealed the deal with Cardamon Records. So now Markus believed
himself to be their savior. He thought that gave him the right to drive the music as
well, which didn t sit well with Rabin.
Zane was disgusted, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He wore a
black leather vest with chains dangling from all manner of fake pockets and seams.
His wild hair was primped for performance, and he even wore a gleaming silver
medallion that emphasized the sparse mat of dark blond hair on his bare chest.
Scheduling mix-up, he told Rabin. Owner s sorry.
Markus laughed. Our drinks are on the house for the night if we want to
stay. He wasn t a tall man, but he gave the impression of being big due to a torso
and muscles that were just thick. With long, straight black hair and bushy black
eyebrows over dark piercing eyes, he looked like he belonged in a 70s hesher grunge
band. Played like it too.
Rabin glanced toward the open door, not seeing Arthur. Beyond the door was
the end of the alley, the last vestiges of sunlight streaming across the street beyond.
Escape. But escape to where? That apartment? God, please no. He didn t want to
face that place tonight. What s Arthur say?
Zane shrugged. Nothing he can do. He says we might as well stay the night,
see if we can talk to the owner about a gig some other time.
Rabin grimaced. Do his job. Fuck! He spun around and kicked the wall. It
didn t help, so he kicked it again. And again. Fuck!
Calm down, man. Markus s too-calm voice broke through his tantrum. It s
just a gig.
Indigo Knights 1: Squire 111
Rabin whirled, pulling back a fist, but Zane was there to catch him. Rabin
struggled against his friend, glaring daggers over his shoulder at Markus. Right,
the burly guy would probably kick his ass, but it might be worth it. He was angry
enough that a little pain would be welcome. How sick was that?
All right, all right. Zane pushed Rabin back against the wall. We re all
pissed.
Rabin glared at him, and Zane s blue eyes showed he knew Rabin wanted to
rip Markus s head off and that he might want to join.
Sam pushed off from the wall, dropping his cigarette as casually as if the rest
of them weren t there. Did you say something about free drinks? I m all for that.
What about the truck? Rabin asked, pining for his guitar even if there was no
gig.
Markus turned to follow Sam inside. We sent the truck back to the studio.
Outraged, inarticulate bleats squeezed from Rabin s throat at Markus s
retreating back. Zane leaned in to hold him propped against the wall.
It s okay, Zane soothed, keeping his tone low. It s better n keeping the
equipment parked in an alleyway in this part of town.
It was true, but Rabin was feeling obstinate enough to still be pissed about it.
Alone with Zane, Rabin shook off his friend and kicked the wall again. The
rancid fumes from the trash bins were making him nauseated. What the fuck,
man? This is whacked.
I know. Zane gazed off toward the end of the alley, thumbs hooked in the
pockets of his jeans. At least this place is better than the last one.
Rabin shuddered. A few days previous, they d played in an awful dump with a
stage the size of a dime, no lighting, awful acoustics, and no audience to speak of.
You mean, would have been better.
Zane slumped against the wall. Yeah.
112 Jet Mykles
Rabin braced both arms against the wall and leaned hard, hanging his head
down between them. We need to get a manager. It s mad to think Arthur s really
looking out for us.
Yeah. Zane sounded tired. You re right. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
making. That in and of itself wasn t all that odd, since it was the A&R guy s job to
make sure things were moving smoothly. But Rabin couldn t shake the feeling that
something else was going on. He tried to keep his feelings under wraps. Kept
reminding himself that this was a huge chance and a big opportunity. There were
Indigo Knights 1: Squire 109
thousands of bands who d give their nuts for the chance they d been given. He tried
to enjoy being able to live his craft.
After three weeks, it was almost impossible to try anymore.
* * *
Rabin stood in the early twilight of a claustrophobic back-alley entrance to a
seedy little nightclub, ignoring the reek of urine and refuse from the trash bins
behind him as he stared at Arthur, dumbfounded. He wasn t alone. Zane and
Markus stood beside him, Sam loitering somewhere a few feet away.
Zane spoke for him, for all of them. What?
Arthur, a generically good-looking man in his early forties, with light blond
hair that disguised the touch of gray, had the grace to look ashamed. He leaned on
the door frame, playing up looking dejected. I m sorry, guys. I had no idea. The
owner double booked for tonight.
Disgusted, Rabin turned away, leaving Zane and Markus to talk to Arthur.
The club behind him was supposed to be their venue for the night, a place to loosen
up and start to get their name known again. It was one of the few things he d looked
forward to, because at least it was a chance to play in front of an audience instead of
dealing with the frustration and isolation of the studio. But even that small thing
had been yanked from him.
Sam appeared beside him and leaned on the dusty brick wall as he pulled out
a pack of cigarettes. Well, that bites, don t it?
Rabin didn t look at him, afraid he couldn t hide his disgust. Sam had been a
junkie when they were on tour, but Rabin had thought had been told it was
under control, so he d overlooked it. How stupid of him to believe. Now Sam showed
signs of his addiction. His brown hair was lank, his hazel eyes droopy and glassy.
The corner of his mouth had a funny twitch, and his skin color just did not look
good. Rabin didn t know what Sam was on, but he would swear the man was dying
from it. Sam could still play, thank God, but he wasn t much for suggesting
anything new. In the studio, he sat at his kit when they could get him to focus
110 Jet Mykles
and played what he was told. At night& Well, Rabin had learned the first night
that he didn t want to be in Sam s company when they weren t in the studio.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Rabin turned to face Zane and Markus or
Zane, at least. Rabin tried not to make eye contact with Markus. The bass player
had been self-righteous before, but he was insufferable now. Once they d arrived in
LA, Rabin and Zane had discovered that it was Markus who d gotten in touch with
Arthur and who d sealed the deal with Cardamon Records. So now Markus believed
himself to be their savior. He thought that gave him the right to drive the music as
well, which didn t sit well with Rabin.
Zane was disgusted, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He wore a
black leather vest with chains dangling from all manner of fake pockets and seams.
His wild hair was primped for performance, and he even wore a gleaming silver
medallion that emphasized the sparse mat of dark blond hair on his bare chest.
Scheduling mix-up, he told Rabin. Owner s sorry.
Markus laughed. Our drinks are on the house for the night if we want to
stay. He wasn t a tall man, but he gave the impression of being big due to a torso
and muscles that were just thick. With long, straight black hair and bushy black
eyebrows over dark piercing eyes, he looked like he belonged in a 70s hesher grunge
band. Played like it too.
Rabin glanced toward the open door, not seeing Arthur. Beyond the door was
the end of the alley, the last vestiges of sunlight streaming across the street beyond.
Escape. But escape to where? That apartment? God, please no. He didn t want to
face that place tonight. What s Arthur say?
Zane shrugged. Nothing he can do. He says we might as well stay the night,
see if we can talk to the owner about a gig some other time.
Rabin grimaced. Do his job. Fuck! He spun around and kicked the wall. It
didn t help, so he kicked it again. And again. Fuck!
Calm down, man. Markus s too-calm voice broke through his tantrum. It s
just a gig.
Indigo Knights 1: Squire 111
Rabin whirled, pulling back a fist, but Zane was there to catch him. Rabin
struggled against his friend, glaring daggers over his shoulder at Markus. Right,
the burly guy would probably kick his ass, but it might be worth it. He was angry
enough that a little pain would be welcome. How sick was that?
All right, all right. Zane pushed Rabin back against the wall. We re all
pissed.
Rabin glared at him, and Zane s blue eyes showed he knew Rabin wanted to
rip Markus s head off and that he might want to join.
Sam pushed off from the wall, dropping his cigarette as casually as if the rest
of them weren t there. Did you say something about free drinks? I m all for that.
What about the truck? Rabin asked, pining for his guitar even if there was no
gig.
Markus turned to follow Sam inside. We sent the truck back to the studio.
Outraged, inarticulate bleats squeezed from Rabin s throat at Markus s
retreating back. Zane leaned in to hold him propped against the wall.
It s okay, Zane soothed, keeping his tone low. It s better n keeping the
equipment parked in an alleyway in this part of town.
It was true, but Rabin was feeling obstinate enough to still be pissed about it.
Alone with Zane, Rabin shook off his friend and kicked the wall again. The
rancid fumes from the trash bins were making him nauseated. What the fuck,
man? This is whacked.
I know. Zane gazed off toward the end of the alley, thumbs hooked in the
pockets of his jeans. At least this place is better than the last one.
Rabin shuddered. A few days previous, they d played in an awful dump with a
stage the size of a dime, no lighting, awful acoustics, and no audience to speak of.
You mean, would have been better.
Zane slumped against the wall. Yeah.
112 Jet Mykles
Rabin braced both arms against the wall and leaned hard, hanging his head
down between them. We need to get a manager. It s mad to think Arthur s really
looking out for us.
Yeah. Zane sounded tired. You re right. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]