Crime Plus Music (20 page)

“How far have you gone?” asked Otis.

“I don't know. I just run for an hour,” Harlan said out of breath. He continued to run in place as they spoke. “It's good to see you're getting some exercise.”

“Always trying,” said Otis.

“It's good I bumped into you. I was hoping to talk. What happened on the intro to ‘Tomahawks and Teepees?'”

“My tuner got stuck.”

Harlan nodded. “What about the bridge on ‘Champagne Sunrise?'”

Otis shook his head. “I'm sorry about that one. I got it confused with ‘Tequila, Tecate & Teresa.'”

“Those changes are close, that's true,” Harlan said and spit on the ground. “You want me to send you the MP3s so you can revisit them?”

“I have them. I'll look them over before tonight.”

“Want me to see if Terry can get you a tuner that doesn't stick?”

“Nah, I figured it out.”

“And remember we're doing Zach Brown's ‘Chicken Fried' in E and tell Lenny we're not doing just ‘Sandman' but a Metallica medley that Terry and I worked out last night after the gig. ‘Sandman' into ‘Sad but True' into ‘Fuel.' ‘Fuel' we'll do bluegrass. Gig starts at nine, maybe practice at seven so we can work them out.”

Otis nodded.

“And stop by my room sometime before then. Terry and I were thinking about you wearing a mechanic's shirt.”

“A mechanic shirt?”

“The kind with the names on them. We picked you up a couple in Reno. And you were wearing regular jeans last night.”

“I spilled coffee on my black ones yesterday,” said Otis.

Harlan kept running in place. “They have laundry machines at the end of the motel row.”

Otis nodded.

“You ever think of cutting your hair?”

“Not really,” Otis said. “But look, I'll let you keep running.”

Harlan nodded. “Oh, one last thing. How drunk do you think Lenny was last night?”

“Drunk?”

“He seemed off with Terry on the third set. Seemed like he was rushing.”

Otis smiled. “Shit, Harlan, Lenny's got the best time of any guy I ever met. He wasn't drunk, it was just Terry dragging.”

Harlan spit again. “We're in room 235,” he said. “Maybe come before five.”

T
HE
MOVIE
THEATER
WAS
EMPTY
. He ordered a small popcorn, watched the film, and then walked across the street to the China Garden Chinese restaurant and ate a late afternoon lunch. He called Lenny on the walk back to the motel.

“You know how I hate bad Chinese food.”

“Yeah, so?” replied Lenny.

“Well, for a Podunk town they know how to make Chinese . The Kung Pao Chicken was something else and the sweet and sour pork was the best I've had since that place in San Diego.”

“Kung Pao is the stuff with peanuts in it, right?”

“That's it.”

“Man, I hate peanuts in food,” said Lenny.

“That's 'cause you're a dumb fuck.”

“Maybe.”

“You win on Arizona State?”

“Missed the spread by two points, but I put twenty on LSU and it looks like I'll get that.”

Otis walked along the sidewalk and snow continued to fall. “Harlan thinks you were rushing the third set. I told him it was Terry but who knows what he thinks.”

“Where'd you see him?”

“He was jogging when I was heading to the movie.”

“Were there any aliens in ‘The Martian?'”

“Nothing like that.”

“You like it?”

“Good enough,” Otis said.

“Harlan should spend more time learning to play guitar than bitching about me.”

Otis laughed. “We have practice at seven.”

“Shit, man,” Lenny cried. “Why we always have to practice?”

“I don't know.”

“What are we learning?”

“A Metallica medley.”

Lenny started laughing and hung up.

A
T
THE
BACK
END
OF
the motel was a small laundry room with two washers and two dryers. Otis opened his suitcase and put all his clothes, including the pants and shirt he was wearing, into a rusted-out washing machine. In his underwear he walked back to his room, showered, and shaved. He put his clothes in the dryer, watched TV until they were done, and then put on his black jeans and his best black long-sleeved Western shirt. He shined his boots, brushed his teeth, and walked down to room 235 and knocked on the door.

Inside Harlan and Terry had pushed their beds apart. Harlan was doing pushups in the space in between them.

“Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six,” yelled Terry. When he got to fifty Harlan quit, stood up, and stepped back, and Terry got down.

“We're almost done,” Harlan said, breathing heavily as sweat dripped down his face. “Terry has one more set so hold tight.”

Terry went through his fifty and then collapsed on his bed. Harlan walked over to the vanity sink outside the bathroom, took off his shirt, and stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself. He had the abs of a boxer and the arms of a football player. Otis just shook his head. Terry turned the TV onto CMT, opened a Red Bull, and got on his laptop.

Harlan showered, dressed in silk black sweats, and he and Terry talked about Facebook and Twitter. Boxes of Harlan Sudrey T-shirts and hats were stacked in the corner of the room and Terry began doing an inventory of them.

“What we're thinking is black jeans and these mechanic shirts,” Harlan said and took two shirts from a Goodwill bag. “You're a medium, right?”

Otis nodded and took them.

“And I know you have your hands full, but do you think you could get more active on stage? You've said you can't move around and play lead but maybe when Mickey takes a lead you can get more active.”

“We need to get the audience to groove harder,” said Terry.

Otis just nodded.

Harlan sprayed Clear Throat into his mouth and smiled. “We've been packing houses for five months straight. I know we've confirmed the four New Year's shows in Little Rock and then the Texas run, but can you do a Southern run in February and a California run in March?”

“I have nothing planned but this. Count me in.”

Harlan nodded. “You're a hell of a guitar player and you're a team player. I like both of those things.”

Otis cleared his throat. “I know you said once things got rolling we could talk about a wage increase.”

“We will,” Terry said and looked up from counting shirts. “We're locked in moneywise until spring but hold tight, brother, we'll set you up as soon as we can.”

“Two hundred and fifty a week is tough.”

Harlan nodded and looked at his fingernails. He went to his shaving kit and began cutting them with a clipper in the vanity sink. “Don't worry we'll take care of all you guys. . . . Oh, and one last thing,” he said. “Did you get my email about ‘Son of a Son of a Sailor?'”

“‘Son of a Son of a Sailor?'”

“The Jimmy Buffett tune.”

“I haven't checked my email for a couple days,” Otis said

“We're going to do it at sound check. Maybe we'll put it in second set by the time we get to ‘Jackpot.'”

“What key?”

“G,” said Harlan.

Otis nodded.

“And listen, since we're talking shop, you made a few mistakes last night,” said Terry.

Otis again nodded. “Harlan and I already went over it. My tuner got stuck on ‘Tomahawks.' But you're right I blew ‘Champagne Sunrise.' I always get the bridge confused with ‘Tequila, Tecate & Teresa.'”

“They are close,” said Terry. “But you got the MP3s, right?”

Otis nodded.

Harlan set his nail clippers back in his shaving kit and sat on the bed across from Otis. “And you might want to go a different direction on the solo for ‘Rolling into Raleigh
.
' About half as much chicken picking and a little bit more Neal Schon. You know Journey, right?”

“I know who you're talking about,” Otis said.

“All right,” Harlan said. “So we'll see you at seven wearing the new shirt, okay?”

T
HE
BAND
FINISHED
THE
TWO
last dates in Winnemucca and then did a three-day HVAC convention at Cactus Pete's in Jackpot. After that it was four nights in Wendover at the Peppermill. They had two days off and ended the tour with a Wednesday through Saturday stint in Elko at the Stockman Casino.

Otis woke there on the Sunday morning shivering in the hotel room. He got up wearing long underwear and a sweatshirt and walked to the motel window, shut it, and turned on the heat. Outside, snow was on the ground and the morning was covered in a haze of low-hanging clouds. It was fifteen degrees out.

Lenny snored in the bed next to him. It was 10:30 a.m.

“Let's get breakfast,” said Otis.

Lenny woke up startled. “What?” he cried.

“I'm gonna die if you keep leaving the windows open all night.”

“I get congested with fake heat,” he said.

“What kind of heat isn't fake in winter,” Otis said and sat down on his bed.

Lenny pulled the covers up to his neck. “You're just pissed 'cause that girl dissed you after you bought her two Long Island Iced Teas.”

“I bought her three friends one each, too,” Otis whined. “I spent eighty bucks on drinks alone.”

“I saw that one coming from ten miles away.”

“You're full of shit, you were right there.”

“Maybe, but I didn't buy her any drinks.”

“I'm gonna get sick if we don't eat soon,” said Otis.

Lenny got up from bed and used the toilet. He came out with his face washed and his hair combed. He picked his clothes off the ground and got dressed. “I feel pretty good today considering. I thought I'd be hungover as shit drinking those Lemon Drops, but I'm not.”

“Good for you.”

Lenny smiled. “Let's go see a double feature and then hit the Sunday night NFL game in the casino. We'll celebrate the end of the tour. Terry gave me his and Harlan's drink tickets.”

“Double feature?”

“We'll just leave one movie and go into the next. A modern-day double feature.”

T
HEY
SAT
ACROSS
FROM
EACH
other in a booth at the Stockman's Café. Otis played Keno and nursed a Coors and Lenny read the
Elko Daily Free Press
and drank a Bloody Mary. They were silent until the food came. They ordered two more drinks and Otis glared at the Keno screen on the back wall.

“You hit?” asked Lenny.

“Close, but no.”

“What I want to know is what the fuck happened on this tour? All my years touring I've never seen an amp go missing. A few guitars but never an amp.”

“I'm out nine hundred bucks,” said Otis. “And now I have to play a Peavey that looks like it's been dumped in Sani-Hut. I have no idea where Terry got it so fast but I fuckin' hate it.”

“At least you can drop those things out of a van and they'll still play.”

Otis nodded. “I know my Fender was just a reissue but I loved that amp.”

“Some meth-head probably stole it,” said Lenny and poured syrup over his eggs and hamburger steak.

“When we're done eating I'm calling every pawnshop from here to Reno. I have the serial number in my wallet and underneath the reverb tank I keep my address, name, and a hundred bucks.”

“A hundred bucks?”

“For when shit really goes south.”

“That's a good idea,” Lenny said and covered the French toast with butter and maple syrup and dumped it on top of his eggs and hamburger.

Otis watched as the numbers on the Keno screen began to appear. “It just doesn't make sense. It was there when we left the showroom. I heard the doors lock. A lost bass and a lost amp all on one tour.”

Lenny pointed his fork at Otis, “And don't forget Mickey's watch.”

“An amp, a bass, and a watch,” said Otis. “I'm gonna have a shot. You want one?”

Lenny nodded. “But get Jägermeister. The longer I'm awake the worse my stomach feels.”

Otis ordered two shots and two beers from the waitress. As she walked toward the bar Terry appeared from the casino floor and came to their table.

“You guys are already up and rolling,” he said and smiled.

Lenny nodded. “I got one question for you, Terry.”

“What's that?”

“Why we staying an extra night? Why not leave today? I want to get the hell out of here.”

“That's one of the things I came by to talk to you guys about. Can you meet in room 422 when you're done with breakfast? Let's make it a half hour. Mickey's coming then.”

“You hear anything about my amp?” asked Otis.

“Not a thing.”

“I'm gonna check with security,” Otis said. “Maybe they'll have surveillance footage.”

Terry rubbed his goatee and shook his head. “I already talked with them. We went over the footage minute by minute. Not a goddamn thing. Anyway we'll talk about all that in our room, okay?”

They both nodded and Terry walked away.

“Man, I hate guys who whiten their teeth,” Lenny whispered.

“I wouldn't mind him so much but he's the worst drummer since that guy Willis.”

Lenny shook his head. “But at least Willis could play, he just couldn't remember songs. It's 'cause he was a glue huffer.”

“He was a glue huffer?”

Lenny nodded. “I caught him a handful of times.”

Otis laughed. “Shit, I just thought maybe he was building model airplanes or something in his room.”

R
OOM
422
WAS
EMPTY
BUT
for Mickey sitting on the bed closest to the window and both Harlan and Terry standing near the dresser. Otis and Lenny came in and sat next to Mickey. On a small table next to the TV sat three manila envelopes.