Suzie’s House 366 : Uncle John’s Band

The drum kit would be the tricky part. He had hinted to the drummer girl that it would be better to go with something simpler. A hint was the best he could do when Bruce kept jumping down his throat about every little thing, especially in front of the band. Well, now that she saw where they were playing she’d get smart about it.

Or not. She was already pulling one of those big drums out of the van like they had a permit or something. Didn’t she know her entire kit could be confiscated?

Well, if it came up, John would step in and slow the cops down. Bruce would know what to do. He might be a twerp, but he was street smart and played a mean sound synthesizer.

“Please tell me we have a permit for this.” Bruce came up on John’s side.

The two monitored the scene while John considered his options. Option one, confess and get the whole ugly scene out of the way and maybe get more help with the deal or maybe end up with Bruce storming off. Option two, lie and maybe have the scene go south in a big way. Option three, divert the question.

Bruce swore vehemently, which probably meant John was out of options.

“I knew it. I knew we couldn’t get a straight deal out of you.” Bruce grabbed the front of John’s T-shirt and got in his grill. “This is not a legitimate gig. This isn’t even close. The only reason I let this happen at all is so that my band will know better than to deal with you in the future.”

“You’re band?” John smiled, though he thought Bruce was a total idiot for thinking this band belonged to him.

“Hey, where should I set up?” The drummer girl interrupted them.

“You shouldn’t. If the cops bust us…”

“Hey, it’s perfectly legal to busk on State Street,” John pointed out.

“But not to hold a concert without a permit. There’s a big difference between two guys with guitars and a six piece band.”

“Like I’m going to listen to a guy who doesn’t know how to treat a girl,” the drummer said with a sniff and a head toss. She carried her drum off to a clear spot where the other drummer had already put some of her kit.

“What was that about?”

Bruce shrugged. “We were just talking about guys and girls.”

“Wait. You mean like who likes who?”

“Something like that.”

John swore. The nocturnal antics of the members of a band could the fraught with peril. More than one of his bands had exploded because of it. He’d thought it wouldn’t be a problem with this one because they were all so young.

Then again, John was pretty sure Bruce had lost his virginity a couple of years ago. John’s brother said he should feel guilty about that since it was because of the lifestyle John had pushed him into, but in his heart what he thought was that Bruce was such a lucky dog.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s got nothing to do with you.” Bruce walked off.

Once the kid started helping the band set up, they put it together fast. Good thing, too, because HE should be coming along any minute now. HE, Michael Madison-Brown, didn’t play guitar at all anymore. He had some fancy job in the capital building. He also owned a recording studio.

This was John’s chance to kill two birds with one stone. He’d catch Michael’s eye, remind him of the good times when the two of them were in a band together, and wrangle a deal. Michael had a good ear. All he had to do was hear the kids playing, and it would be a done deal.

The kids finally got set up and started playing one of their songs. Good. John had told them to play all original stuff, but there was no way to be sure they’d listen to him. Every one of the six was as headstrong as Bruce, and that was saying something.

John moved down to the sidewalk, facing the capital building. They’d made it in time for the lunch crowd. So where was Michael?

“Hey.” Some guy tapped John’s shoulder. “You with them?”

John turned around. It was a cop. I turned to face the band.
“Hey Bruce! Memphis.”

About a year and a half ago the band John had managed and Bruce had played in ran into problems with the local authorities in Memphis. While John distracted the cops, Bruce and the rest of the band grabbed their instruments and ran. Bruce must have remembered that because he stopped playing and headed for the van with his keyboard.

“Hey!” The cop moved toward them.

John did the only honorable thing he could think of. He threw himself at the cop and started sobbing loudly. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t do anything to my friends.”

While he clung, and did the high-theatrics fake drunk thing, the kids grabbed everything and packed it into the van. They were pretty quick about it. John thought it was about time to extract himself from the cop when the van roared to life.

He glanced over in time to see Bruce drive away.

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