Noisemaker by Andy Tolson

Author:Andy Tolson [Tolson, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moose House Publications
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-three

Jin calls, her voice clipped, to the point. “We’re having a band meeting, William.”

“Is this about the record company guy?”

“Meet us tonight in the pub around the corner from the church. The Daniel Webster. Bloke’s name is Barry Hall.”

“Hairy Ball?”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Marina’s photos.”

Jin waves, though I’ve already spotted her bald head across the crowded pub. The black-suited man from our last gig sits at the table.

Jin says, “This is Barry.”

Before I sit down, his hand is out. “All right, Skunk?” He slides a pint of lager across the table.

I take a sip. “Boz on his way?”

Jin lifts her briefcase onto the table. “Barry liked a lot of what he saw of the band. There were a few problems, but nothing that can’t be corrected.” She looks at me. “Boz won’t be here.”

“Boz can’t make it?”

“Barry’s a manager, putting together a band. He needs a rhythm section with—”

“Bass and drums,” Barry cuts in. “It’s heavy metal. I’ve got the guitars, just need the bass and drums. A fucking great rhythm section. Like you and Jin.” His accent is as nondescript as his suit, fading into the pub noise. His comb-over is greasy and black.

Heavy metal? Manager? “We’re not heavy metal.”

“Barry just wants you and me,” Jin says. “He’s got these two Swedish brothers who play guitar and sing, but they need back-up.”

“What about Nicotine Garden?” I’m frantic. “I thought you were our manager, Jin.”

She laughs, looks away. “I was just messing about.” She holds up her empty glass. “More pints, Barry?”

“Sure.”

“Cheers,” she says. “And get Skunk another.”

“Won’t be Skunk for long,” Barry says.

I lean into Jin. “What’d he mean by that? What about our band? The chemistry? What about Boz? As much as I think the guy is a cranky old fart, I don’t want to leave him by the side of the road.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“This could be huge for us.”

Bells and whistles from a pinball machine ring through the pub. The dead drummer sits on a stool at the bar, staring into his half-empty pint. I will him to glance my way. I need his help. I don’t care about when he first played the Marquee Club or his lost years when he got wasted with John Lennon and Alice Cooper in Los Angeles. This is an important decision and he’ll know what to do.

Jin leans closer. “Barry is putting loads of money into these Swedish brothers. The marketing is fucking incredible. He says we’ll have a record deal in no time. Wembley Stadium, too. He said that.”

Barry returns with three more pints. Jin takes a photo from her briefcase. “I was just telling Skunk about our Swedish brothers.”

A wistful look appears in his eyes, glass to his thin lips. “Yes, my boys are very, very talented.”

Jin holds up the photo of the identical twin brothers, flawless sleek blond hair stretching past their hips. They wear medieval-like capes over white satin shirts. Hands on their hips. Tight black jeans. They pout shamelessly for the camera. The name ‘SVENGALI’ is scrawled in bold Gothic letters across the top of the picture.

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