Sons of Mayhem 3: The Full Force (6 page)

I
felt
like crap as I hurried into the hospital. What had I been thinking going back to the hotel with the biker last night? I should have been in the hospital with Lily, watching over her through the night. What kind of sister abandons their younger sibling to disappear when they’ve OD’d.

Inside I found the same young nurse I’d seen the night before. She must have been coming to the end of her shift I thought. Either that, or covering for someone else. Maybe another nurse had a younger sister like mine and was missing work like me.

“Hi, Hon. She’s awake and she’s doing great,” she said with a kind smile.

Relief flooded through me and some of the guilt I felt for leaving the night before disappeared.

“Thanks. Can I go straight in?” I asked as I headed toward the ward I remembered from the night before.

“Give her a minute? The doctor has just gone in to see her. When he’s done you should be able to take her home. Why don’t you grab a coffee from down the hall and have a seat a minute.”

I agreed and spent the next few minutes sipping a sweet brown liquid that few people would accuse of being coffee. I didn’t normally take sugar but I added it this time in the vain hope that it would give me energy. In fact it just made the drink taste even more alien than it did already. Coffee my ass.

When I finally got in to see Lily she was sitting up in the bed looking a little tired but none the worse for wear. Actually, she probably looked better than me I thought with a grimace, stretching an aching shoulder back absentmindedly.

“I’m sorry, sis. I’m really sorry.”

I nodded as tears welled in my eyes and I went to her, wrapping my arms around her awkwardly as I half leaned over the bed.

“I know you are sweetie. I know you are. I was so worried though.”

She sniffled. “I was an idiot. It won’t happen again. I swear, I promise.”

“I know, honey. Of course it won’t. I’m never letting you out the house again,” I joked.

The joke fell flat. I felt her shoulders tense and suddenly the awkward hug became impossible and I stepped back, looking down at her confused. Her expression was fierce.

“I’m an adult, Ava. You’ve got to realize that. You’ve got let me make my own mistakes now. You can’t stop me growing up.”

Anger flooded through me. “Look at you! Look at where you are. Look at what happened. Like hell I won’t try and protect you.”

“Maybe if you didn’t keep mothering me so much I wouldn’t have done it!”

Self-doubt appeared as it always did for any parent -- or foster parent -- when they’re accused of causing their young charge’s distress. The confidence of carefully considered decisions shattered in an instant of accusation. Was she right, was this actually my fault I wondered.

“Lily,” I said, my voice wavering, “please, I only want what’s best for you. I’m trying hard, I really am. Since Mom and Dad passed it’s just been us. I’m not that bad am I?”

She shook her head. “You’re not bad. I’m sorry. But you’ve got to let me grow up, you know? You can’t keep treating me like the thirteen year old I was. That’s not me anymore.”

“But look at what happened. You’re in hospital for God’s sake!”

“You’re right, I messed up. But it won’t happen again. I promise.”

She had a fierce look in her eyes, like a lion cub trying to show off its hunting prowess by angrily jumping on a blowing leaf and clamping it between its claws. No, I thought, looking at her again. Not a cub. Not anymore. A young lioness with her first kill instead.

“So what the hell happened? What were you thinking?”

“Si said he was going to have one last night of partying. One last hurrah before he quit the drugs, and the drink, and everything…”

“Si?”

“Yeah, Si. The bassist.”

“And you fell for that shit? He’s a goddamn rockstar who eats groupies like you up for breakfast then spits them out when he’s finished with them.”

Her eyes flashed with anger and she repeated the line that’s been said by a thousand, a million, a hundred million young girls before her, “He’s
different
, I’m telling you. We’ve really connected.”

“Hon, this is
exactly
it. He
isn’t
different. You can’t fall for this shit. Please, trust me, this is why I want to mother you so much. You’re naive, Lily. He’s probably shooting smack with two other groupies right now.”

She hugged a pillow tight against her chest. “You’re wrong Ava. You’re wrong. Si’s not like that.”

I just shook my head. How could she be so stupid? She got good grades in school, but it looked like I’d raised an idiot in the real world. How could I have fucked up so bad, I wondered. Listening to her defiant talk I suddenly didn’t feel so bad about leaving her here the night before.

I became aware of the disinfectant smell of the hospital that had been lingering the whole time. I hated it, always had. It was time to get out of there before it made me sick.

I tried to brighten the mood by giving a smile but it was so tight and false it probably came out more like a sneer or grimace. “Let’s talk about it later hon. Come on. We’ll do your paperwork and then get some breakfast. Denny’s or IHOP? I passed both on the way in…”

She stared at me hard for a second before her look softened. “IHOP,” she said softly.

I smiled and held her hand. She knew I didn’t like IHOP, but I’d let her win this round.

“Let’s go.”

“
H
ere you go
. That’s the list for the next week of shows. Venues, addresses and times,” Chad said as he passed a neatly printed page on crisp white letter paper.

I looked at him in some surprise. Just three hours earlier that guy had been completely fucked up. Now he was acting the consummate professional, no hint of his earlier binge visible on his wrinkl-free tanned face.

“Cheers. Coming to the meeting?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I’ve got some promoting to do.” Tickets for tonight’s show go on sale in just a few hours. He held his hands in front of him as if he was conducting an orchestra and began to wave them around. “Got to get the Tweets flowing, Facebook posting, radio speaking, newspaper columnists cursing themselves for being out of date. Gotta’ get that
buzz
.” He spun around as he said the last word.

I tilted my head as I looked down at him. “You know what, you’re fuckin’ mental.”

He stepped in close. “You calling me crazy? Maybe you’re right. But when I’m done this band is going to be bigger than the Rolling Stones.”

“Uh huh,” I sounded, unconvinced. “Best get to work then, eh.”

Chad Chad Price nodded and hummed as he hurried away, half skipping as he did so. I headed to the Presidential suite. Or Presidential disaster zone as it now appeared to be.

Everyone was there. They’d cleared debris away and pushed an assortment of stained sofas and dodgy looking chairs into a rough circle, my near-dozen partners sitting down in different degrees of comfort. The hotel room was rapidly beginning to take on the appearance of an MC clubhouse rather than the luxury suite it had been.

“What’s the word?” asked Jase after greetings were exchanged.

“The band are in the other suite trying to sober the hell up. Chad Chad gave me the list of the next few venues. It’s supposed to stay secret. He’s trying to keep people talking by withholding the venues until the very last minute or some shit.”

“Uh huh. So where we going tonight?”

I looked at the list of venues for the first time. I recognized a couple of them, and there were another couple I’d never heard of. I shook my head slowly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jase.

“It’s weird. These venues are shit. The ones I know are tiny, I doubt they’d get more than two hundred, maybe two fifty in most of them.”

Everest the giant shrugged. “Easy money.”

I nodded absent-mindedly. Something was weird about this whole thing. What the hell was Chad up to with this ‘tour’?

“Small venues, expensive tickets. It’s good for us. Won’t be much trouble,” said Jase.

“You know how much the tickets are?” I asked.

“Nicole was looking earlier. She said they’re like a hundred, a hundred fifty maybe.”

My eyebrows shot up. $100-$150 a ticket? That was nuts. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Nope. Should keep the rougher fans away, eh?”

I laughed. “You mean people like us?”

Jase grinned. “Exactly. Easy money.”

“I guess. I feel sorry for the band though. This tour was supposed to be their big breakout in the US. They got that song on the radio, but they need some big fuckin’ shows to really make a name for themselves.”

Jase shrugged. I shook my head. Oh well, not my problem. It was a shame, it’d be nice to see the boys do
really
well, but if they could sell the tickets at this price they might be able to clear a bit of cash. They’d more than break even on the tour and they’d still have the record royalties, as pitiful as they were these days thanks to streaming services and cheap digital sales.

Jase clicked his fingers in front of my eyes. Shit. He knows I hate that.

"What?" I asked.

"Where are we going tonight?"

Oh yeah. He'd asked a question a while ago hadn't he. "Some shithole called Vesuvius. Ever heard of it?"

"Nope. Anyone else?" Jase's eyes scanned around the room, waiting to hear whether anyone else had heard of the place. Finally someone spoke up. It was one of the Ragers guys, a prospect. I didn't know his name.

"Yeah. I been there. It's kind of a dive. A converted warehouse I think."

"Figures," I said, "that seems to be the kind of place good old Chad Chad has chosen for all of the shows. Any idea of the capacity?"

"Depends how tight they're gonna pack 'em in. But I'd say, maybe two fifty?"

"Well, shit. They’re selling three hundred tickets for this one. It’s going to be sardines in there. Anyway, I figure two on the door, two on the edge of the stage -- if there's room -- and the rest just hang outside as reinforcements.”

“Shit, having us all along is overkill, isn't it?" said Jase.

I nodded at the boss. "Yep seems to be total overkill. Still, better to be too many than too few."

"Ain't that the truth," said BK.

There were other rumbles of agreement around the room as memories were stirred. Memories of being outnumbered or outgunned, fights gone wrong, beat downs and smackdowns received. Shit, living the way we do, these kinds of things weren't uncommon. But still, we got to experience the other side as well. You don't know joy until you get all the thrill of a good fight while knowing you and your mates outnumber the other fuckheads two or three to one. You get to fight, you get to kick some arse and you know damn well you're going to win. That's the shit.

"Alright, anything else?" asked Jase.

There were silent shakes and grunts. Everyone was pretty happy. We had an easy job to do and we were actually going to be paid more than suds and grub to do it. What was there to complain about?

Then the doorbell rang.

These suites were fancy, and they came with a nice doorbell that provided a real quality chiming sound from high quality speakers so that it could be heard in any room of the suite. No rapping on the door for attention here.

I got up to go answer it. It was probably a prospect's job, but I was the closest so what the hell. I went over, swung the unlocked door open and before I knew it my eyebrows had shot up my head. I hadn't been expecting what I saw, though perhaps I should have.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave," said a man in a suit who I guessed was the day manager. He looked much more confident than the guy we'd dealt with the night before. Of course, his confidence might have been helped by the fact that he had four policemen standing behind him.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

The manager looked pointedly behind me. I swung my head over my shoulder and had a proper gander. It did look pretty bad. There were near a dozen leather clad, tattooed bikers sitting on heavily damaged furniture amid a debris sea made of bottles, cans, wrappers and who knows what else.

"That's the matter. We're going to have to ask you to leave.
All
of you."

"Worry not, worry not," came a familiar voice behind the cops. A moment later Chad Chad Price was wriggling between them and then he was behind me. "Listen up! Don't worry. I've found somewhere much nicer than this," he turned to look at the manager, "shithole. Don't worry about the mess, let's just get going."

Jase stood up chuckling. The other men joined him. It was pretty funny really, especially since we wouldn't have to pay for it.

"We'll be on our way then, shall we?" I said to the manager and the police officers behind him. He looked irate. They must have insurance for this kind of shit, mustn't they? Or maybe Acts of God and Rock were excluded from their policy.

We all rose to our feet and made our way grinning to the door. I noticed a couple of the boys were holding a few souvenirs from the room - a bottle of Jacks here, an engraved hotel pen there, a silver letter opener. Just a few little perks of the job.

The police officers parted as we swaggered out, giving us nasty looks as we left but not causing any hassle. Chad Chad Price led the way, seeming over pleased by the sudden turn of events. Surely this was extra hassle for him?

As we headed down the hallway a cute young rock-chick with dyed blue hair snapped some pictures of us with her cellphone. I’d thought most of the groupies had left already, but I guess this one had slipped through the net. Chad patted her on the shoulder as we passed. Shit, he got around a bit, didn’t he, I thought.

A
n hour
and a half later me and the Sons and the Ragers found ourselves laughing as we pulled up to a real dive of a hotel. Peeling paint, a neon sign from the 70s and gap toothed front desk staff that were more redneck than Hollywood.

What a shithole. Chad may have been talking a big game to the manager at the last place, but he most certainly had not found us somewhere better. I've seen motels better than this rundown old joint. Supposedly it’d been a favorite of James Dean, but that was sixty odd years before.

Chad dealt with the front desk in record time, then Chad, me and the band headed up to the rooms. We rode a whining elevator up to the fifth, and top, floor of the hotel which juddered the whole way up. We marched down a stained carpeted corridor before I grandly swung open the door to one of the suites.

"As long as the sheets are clean," said Johnny Tranquil, stoic as always.

"Fuck this shower of shite. We're supposed to be fuckin' rock stars. fuckin' champagne, diamonds, Class A drugs, models. Look at this place," Rabbie swung a drumstick around the so-called suite, "the only model who'll want to get high in here is a fuckin' model aeroplane."

"You ain't even been close to a model anyway. I'm sure the groupies won't mind," I told him. He glared back.

"It's much more rock'n'roll, don't you think boys?" asked Chad.

"No," replied Johnny, Neal, Rabbie and Si.