Voice. Part 20

Douglas grinned. "You said it, man."

Chapter 18.

Case took one look at the booth and eased in next to Quentin, across from Danny.

"Where's Johnny?" she asked.

Quentin pushed his menu away. Danny, she noted, hadn't even opened his.

"He's not coming," Danny said.

"Tough to have a band meeting without Johnny."

Danny inclined his head toward Quentin. "This is Quentin's show."

Quentin half-turned in his seat to be able to see Case better. There was a second's pause while his eyes moved from Danny to Case and back, and then- "I think we need to take a break from the band for a while," he blurted.

Case made no response, watching as red blotches bloomed on Quentin's face, like ink clouds spreading through water. Quentin folded his hands, unfolded them, and then put them in his lap.

"A break," Case said at last.

"Yeah. Maybe a few months. Maybe-I don't know. Longer. I mean, not too much longer. Just until, you know. Things calm down."

"Until things calm down. Which things? Our fan base? I'm sure they'll get good and calm after we just go away indefinitely. Or do you mean the clubs that are actually asking us to play now? I bet they'll calm down plenty."

"Case-"

"Or how about my f.u.c.king landlord? No, wait-he's not going to calm down at all, because three hundred bucks a month is going to vanish from my income, which cuts pretty close to the G.o.dd.a.m.n bone. Are you insane? We've worked our a.s.ses off to get here, and, what? It looks too much like success for you?"

Case knew she was shouting, and she could see people at neighboring tables gawking, but she didn't much care. This was absurd.

Quentin fiddled with his water gla.s.s. "I'm not afraid of success. But that stuff that happened the other night-that freaks me out."

"No s.h.i.t?" Case said. "You think you're freaked out? I was right f.u.c.king there, and I've had nightmares about the body ever since. What the h.e.l.l does that have to do with the price of eggs?"

"I don't know," Quentin said, holding up his hands. "It's just-you know. They were at the show, just like some of the other weirdos we've seen. And Johnny keeps getting weirder. Did you see the way he flew off the handle the other night? I don't think any of this is good for him. He's losing it."

"You didn't think maybe you'd get his opinion on whether or not he's losing it? We're going to decide without him and let him know the verdict?"

Danny finally spoke. "I think Quentin's right about Johnny," he said. "He's taking that stage persona of his way too seriously. I've never seen him like this."

"So talk to him," Case said. "Or something. I'm not going to sit here and decide what's best for him." She breathed out, trying to calm down, and addressed Quentin. "I'm not ready to 'take a break.' Not on Johnny's account, and not on yours. If you want some time off, do what you gotta do." She lowered her voice further and forced herself not to look away. "We'll-I'll miss you."

Astonishment wrote itself all over Quentin's face. "My G.o.d," he said, "I think that's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say to anyone."

"Yeah, well, don't get all choked up over it," she shot back, but she smiled.

"I want this as much as you guys do, you know. I don't want to swing a hammer the rest of my life, and playing music with you guys is-well, it's the best thing I do. But this is getting weird, and I don't like it."

"Give it another couple of shows," Case said. "If you can't take it after that, we'll figure something out. But I'm telling you, what happened after the last show was a fluke. It can't get worse than that."

"Yeah," Quentin said. "You're probably right."

To Quentin's relief, the next show went well, as did the one after that. Johnny's creepy friend didn't come around, and the strange behavior of the audience had all but stopped. Quentin doubted the two were unrelated. Johnny still worried Quentin, and some of the songs still gave him a bad feeling, but overall, Quentin was optimistic and even starting to have fun again.

Erin continued to deliver one record crowd after another, and soon they were moving to bigger venues. Christmas came and went, and the old year sloughed away like so much dead skin, revealing the shiny pink new year beneath it. They ended the year on a high note, playing New Year's Eve to a sold-out crowd, and the band had a blast and got good and drunk afterward. It was like the old days, almost, only better.

"Only good things from here on out," Quentin said, raising his gla.s.s.

They all drank to that.

Chapter 19.

From the Dallas Observer, February 12, 2010: Ragman Draws Crowds When you ask Ragman frontman Johnny Tango who his biggest influence is, he gives you a look designed to make you think you're the dumbest son of a b.i.t.c.h he's ever set eyes on.

"Dylan, man." He shakes his head. "You need to do your motherf.u.c.king homework."

And that's how the interview starts.

We sat down with Ragman's lead singer Johnny Tango and guitarist Case, representatives of the band that took home our Readers' Choice Award for Best New Act for last year. The pair of them are Dallas's up-and-coming current answer to the dynamic duo of Keith Richards and Mick Jagger, or the Toxic Twins Steven Tyler and Joe Perry-comparisons Case, at least, seems to relish.

Johnny, it turns out, is more of a Dylan fan.

The two of them are a study in weird contrasts and unexpected similarities. Case won't sit on the couch-she pulls out a wooden chair from the table nearby and perches on that, coiled as though ready to strike at any moment. Johnny affects a more languorous att.i.tude and stretches out on the couch with his arms spread wide across the back-but if you look closely, you can see that he, too, is vibrating with barely controlled tension. He grins and sneers and sulks and swears like a sailor. She keeps her face deadpan during the whole interview and also swears like a sailor. He's got the leather jacket, and she wears the leather pants. They both wear white T-shirts. He slips back and forth from coa.r.s.e vulgarity, a caricature of pool-hall machismo, to academic English-speak without being aware of it. She looks at you like she just might decide to break your nose, and never wavers. They seem as likely as any pair to be the latest bastion of rock and roll in Dallas.

We a.s.serted that we had not, in fact, done our motherf.u.c.king homework, and picked up the interview from there.

Observer: Bob Dylan?

Johnny: Yeah.

O: That's a strange influence for a band as heavy as yours.

Johnny: It ain't that f.u.c.kin' strange. Dylan was as heavy as they come. Loud, too. p.i.s.sed a lot of motherf.u.c.kers off when he went electric, but he didn't care. Doesn't get heavier than that. Had a nice bike, too.

O (laughs): Still, you have to admit it's not typical.

Johnny: Only because people don't listen to what the man said. Apocalyptic visions, impa.s.sioned rants against the establishment, drug addiction, cryptic messages from wherever-the-f.u.c.k. He was fearless. He tackled everything, head-on. n.o.body was as rock-and-roll as Bob f.u.c.king Dylan, not before or since.

Case: Except maybe Johnny Thunders.

O (to Case): Johnny Thunders-now there's a name you don't hear much these days. Is he one of your major influences?

Case: Yeah.

O (after a pause): Who else?

Case: Anybody who ever hung a heavy f.u.c.king piece of mahogany around their neck and played no-bulls.h.i.t guitar.

O: Such as?

Case: Jimmy Page. Joe Perry. Slash. Neil Young-he gets some of the ugliest sounds out of a Les Paul you ever heard. It's f.u.c.king great. Martin Barre. Clapton, before his b.a.l.l.s fell off. Kerry Buchanan, from Crashyard. He doesn't get enough credit.

O: Your band has had a fair amount of success locally in a very short time frame. What do you attribute that to?

Case: Good PR.

Johnny (glares at Case): Good f.u.c.king music.

O (to Johnny): Anything specific?

Johnny: Yeah. We rock the f.u.c.k out without treating our audience like eighth graders. (He pauses, thinking for a moment.) Plus we put on a h.e.l.l of a show.

"It's time," Erin said, putting the paper away. "Thou shalt go to Austin."

Later, Case would trace a bitter wealth of misery back to that statement. For now, she just raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Sure. The band's doing pretty well in Dallas, but you guys are never going to make any money playing to the same hundred people every month. Time to start spreading the love. Austin's a good place to start making regular visits."

Case sighed. "A new town. Empty rooms. It'll be just like starting over again."

"No guts, no glory. Besides," Erin said, adding a wink, "I know a few people."

Case laughed-it was hard not to. "All right. Let's set something up."

"Austin." Gina's voice betrayed no emotion.

"Yeah," Danny said. "We talked about it, and it makes sense. Good music scene, lots of college kids. If we're going to be serious, we can't sit in Dallas and hope the world comes to us." He smiled nervously. She didn't smile back. "You wanna come?"

"No."

"It's just an overnight trip. We'll be back before you know it."

She gave him a brittle smile. "I really don't feel like driving three hours to go sit in a smoky bar. Especially not on a weeknight."

"Take the next day off. It'll be fun."

"No thanks. I can only imagine what your boss would say if he knew why you were taking that Friday off."

Danny laughed, showing more than a little strain. "My boss is older than G.o.d, and he thinks Lawrence Welk was the pinnacle of Western musical achievement. He'd want to know why I'd waste even a minute of my precious vacation on that G.o.dd.a.m.n noise."

Gina just looked at him. He didn't need her to make her point any plainer than that.

"Don't have too much fun," she said, and Danny cringed. Ever since that f.u.c.king show, there had been an ugly tension under the surface of their relationship, like a saw blade draped under a silk sheet. It threatened to tear through only when he talked about things related to the band, but it seemed like it was always there, just waiting for him to push against it too hard.

"I won't," he said.

She turned back to the contract she was reading.

Chapter 20.

Another Dallas show, another packed house. The band's momentum had picked up like Johnny never would have believed after they won the Best New Act award, and it wouldn't be long before they'd have to move to even larger venues. Room for a couple hundred was no longer enough, amazingly.

Johnny woke the morning after the show, sweaty and shaking. Another Dallas show, another bad dream. Another bad dream that seemed a little too real. At least n.o.body was following him home anymore. Douglas had taken care of that problem, or it had gone away of its own accord-he didn't care which.

He was rolling over in bed, trying to fall asleep again, when somebody pounded on his front door. Johnny got a sudden, very bad feeling, like ice water poured down his spine.

Let it go, the voice suggested. Johnny thought that sounded just fine. Ignore it and it will go away.

"Mr. Tsiboukas, this is the Dallas Police Department. We'd like to have a few words with you." More pounding.

Oh, f.u.c.k. Johnny got up. Ignoring this would do nothing but make it worse. "Just a second!" he yelled, and he scrambled for some pants.

Johnny went out to the living room and opened the door. A heavyset guy in a cheap coat waved a badge at him.

"Detective Ortiz," he said. "Dallas Police Department. Sorry if this is a little early." He didn't look sorry.

"'Sall right. What can I do for you?"