Crossroads by M.T. Bass

Author:M.T. Bass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M.T. Bass
Published: 2019-01-18T17:15:54+00:00

***~~~***

Lenny parked in a loading zone and walked into Peabody's Café. At two o'clock, the lunch crowd had gone except for a residue of two or three tables here and there. During the day, with the blinds opened on the windows, the bar was bright and pleasant. Lenny noticed that the rooms were decorated with a cluttered attic-like look. Old road signs, license plates, advertising signs and old photographs shared the wall space with stuffed wildlife, rusted farm implements, ancient sporting equipment and other such antique looking objects. A waitress recognized Lenny and met him halfway between the bar and the front door. They talked for a minute, then the waitress pointed towards Dave Duda sitting at the end of the bar.

"Hey, Duda, give me a break, you're not really eating that shit coming out of the kit—

"Crap. Can't even digest my lunch in piece for Christ sake," Duda growled through a mouth full of chili. He did not look up at Lenny when he came up and stood next to him. Why don't you just buzz off."

"Hey, Dave, it's me Lenny—Lenny from Exile. Come on, you remember me."

"You're goddamn right I remember you." Duda pushed away his half-finished bowl of chili. "And now you've ruined my lunch, goddamn it."

"I'm doing you a favor, man, if beating off didn't make you go blind, that stuff sure will," Lenny said with a broad smile. He sat down on the bar stool next to Duda.

"Why don't you go beat off somewhere, punk?"

"I suppose that you don't remember telling me to come by today to talk to you about a house band job?"

"Get the hell out of my sight, why don't you." Duda wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin. "I got nothing to talk to you about."

"What—is your memory only as long as your prick? You told me—"

"I'm telling you now, don't call me, I'll call you." Duda stood up.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Lenny said, grabbing Duda's arm. "Dave, what in the hell is going on here—after we played last week, you were drooling all over us, buying us drinks and promising us any night we wanted, so what gives all of the sudden?"

"My brain was going soft, like I had a twenty-four hour insanity bug. I don't need you guys around here stirring up trouble for me." Duda started walking away.

"Trouble?" Lenny grabbed his arm again. "What are you talking about? Trouble? What trouble?"

"Listen, shit-head, you've already caused me a boat load of trouble." Duda pulled his arm away from Lenny's grasp. "I had a little visit from the local steward of the musician's union and he said you guys are scabbing."

"We were playing for the door, Dave. You weren't guaranteeing us scale, so how in the hell —"

"It's academic, punk, so pack it in and split."

"Look, you've been around, I've been around, and we both know that the union is nothing but a bunch of fat-asses trying to do their own little country club thing with a percentage of our bucks—they're just out trying to protect their turf.

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