“I thought I felt something different with her,” he says to his hands. “But I guess I was wrong.” He sits up and takes another deep drink from his bottle before finally putting it down on the coffee table. “Maybe it was just indigestion?”
He leans back against the couch and laces his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and putting his feet up on the table.
“This sucks, man,” he says.
He’s not wrong. It does suck. I throw back the rest of my drink and pour another.
“Wanna jam for a bit?” I ask, standing with my drink in one hand and the bottle in the other.
“Yeah, sure,” Johnny says, standing and grabbing his bottle, too. “Back in the garage, for old time’s sake.”
I lead the way to the garage, flipping on the lights before heading over to my drum kit.
“Take your pick,” I say, pointing at the guitars on the wall and the amps stacked up by the door. “I know they’re not what you’re used to, but I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”
I keep a small collection of instruments here, not that I’m an expert at playing them all. I’d say I’m proficient at playing bass, and adequate at guitar and piano. All the other instruments I have in here are percussion instruments and though I rarely use them, I can play them all well.
“I have an acoustic up in my room too, if you want. Sometimes I play around with it if I can’t sleep.” I’ve been messing around with writing some of my own songs, just for something to do. They’re not really Sleeping Dogs style songs though, so I’ve never bothered to bring them to the studio to show the guys. I stick with the drums when I’m with them.
Johnny grabs a vintage Gretsch that I bought at auction and had fully restored a few years ago. He gets himself all set up with the pedals he wants, connects the amp, and tunes the guitar.
I get on the throne behind my dw collector’s series custom drum kit, my favourite of all my kits, because I was able to have it finished in a neon hot pink colour; my little sister’s favourite colour before she died. Not to mention I selected everything myself, from wood type, to grain orientation, to drum head material and hardware colours.
“What do you want to play?” Johnny asks when he’s finished tuning the Gretsch. “You start and I’ll jump in.”
I start us off with a blues shuffle and Johnny jumps in with a classic blues riff that gradually morphs into something a little more complicated. Seems like we’re both on the same page when it comes to style of music tonight. I haven’t shared the issues that I’m having because of my encounter with Rhea, but a little bluesy rock feels just right for where my mind is right now.
We play for a couple of hours, alternating between playing and drinking, until we’re both sweaty and exhausted, laying on the floor of my rehearsal space, staring at the ceiling.
“So you’re having a shit day too, huh?” Johnny asks, attempting to drink out of his now empty whiskey bottle. I pass him mine, even though it’s nearly empty too.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
He drinks from my bottle. I’m not sure how he’s still conscious. Then again, I’m not sure how I am either. I never drink this much. It usually makes me do stupid things.
“Is it because of that Rhea chick? You were looking at her with hearts in your eyes this afternoon.”
“Shut up,” I say, and reach out to punch him in the arm, missing entirely even though he’s right next to me. “It’s complicated.”
Complicated is an understatement. I may have impregnated her with my demon DNA and she just got fired from her dream job. Her life was already fucked up, and I made it worse. Well, that asshole that she arrested deserves the blame for fucking everything up in the first place. Someone should make him pay for that.
Shit!
“I have a great idea. Come on.” I jump up, well, more like stumble up, from where I’m laying on the floor, and make my way back into the house. “We need to go somewhere.”
I don’t wait to see if Johnny follows me before I start rummaging around in the cleaning supplies closet. I grab a shopping bag and fill it with supplies before grabbing my phone and calling the one person who can help us right now. I only hope he answers. It is the middle of the night now, after all.
The phone rings three times before a sleepy Devon mumbles a greeting.
“Devon, I need a ride. Right now. And I need you to find out the name and address of the guy that got Rhea fired. It’s time for my side-business to be put to some use again.”
“Oh, fuck. You know this is a stupid idea, don’t you? You’re going to get caught. And if you don’t, she certainly will. She’s the only person who has reason to retaliate against this guy.”
I had thought that before myself, but if he’s the kind of guy who’d push his wife down the stairs in front of a cop, then there have to be other people he’s wronged along the way too. I’m pretty sure none of us will feel much, if any, blowback from this.
“Devon, just get your ass over to my place and pick us up. Johnny needs the distraction and I need to do this. She didn’t deserve what happened.”
“Ugh, fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t leave without me.” He hangs up before I can answer. I called him for a ride. Why would we leave without him?
