When I Should've Stayed Home (Track Twelve: III) 3, chapter 12

*Knight*

The pain was back, and it warned it would become quite vicious. Knight bit the corner of her cheek and kept dragging the hand truck out of the back of the equipment truck. The amplifiers would not unload themselves. The scar, hidden under her bandanas, continued to throb intensely. A blade of fire continually slashed over the scar, reopening and deepening the wound.

If this bloody weather would just piss off, maybe I could be at peace!

Regardless of where they traveled, the clouds they had encountered in Chicago had followed. Even this far south, in Texas, the sky was dull and a harsh wind raced off of the street and straight into the arena's loading dock. A hint of cold rain permeated the icy wind, blowing strands of hair out from under Knight's bandana. She scowled and tugged harder on the hand truck, head bent and back straining. With a clunk, it rolled off of the ramp and onto the loading dock's small causeway.

Life was definitely a great deal more difficult now that they lost part of their trained crew to guard duty. Knight quietly hoped for the twentieth time that soon, someone would complain about the extra workload. She smiled sourly as she concluded—for the twentieth time—that no one would complain; she had trained them too well.

Trista had made a few neutral comments, but Knight could not accede to because it would seem like favoritism. More than anything, Knight hated seeing the pinched look on Trista's face and the dark circles under her eyes. All of the surliness had gone out of her as well. Instead of her usual smart-ass quips and retorts, Trista was passive around everyone. Just that morning, Knight had watched in surprise as Trista had accepted her morning coffee, hands trembling, from Nick and drank it with apathetic resignation.

The guard was effective and the roadies had to pay the price. Nothing had happened since the tire incident. Doug, being thick-skulled as usual, had accepted that the truck had simply blown the tires. Either he did not notice the guards around the trucks, or he did not care.

"Here. Lemme help." Keely came up from behind and began to push on the amp.

Silent, Knight continued to pull the heavy equipment across the rutted parking lot.

"So, you wanna tell me what's up with the extra guards? Nothing's happened in a while." Knight could feel Keely's uncertainty. "Uh," she trailed off. "Um, basically, we can't keep going like this. Have you seen the people on evening duty? They're like the undead. You won't let them work on all the little things 'cause they're guarding, so they stay up and work on them. They're not getting enough sleep. One of these times someone's going to slip because they're just too tired."

Knight turned around so she could push open the arena door with her back. Silently, she met Keely's eyes. Silence was always a good motivator for speech.

Keely ducked her head. "Sorry. It ain't my business. I know. Just I don't think anyone would listen if I started changing things. I ain't much more than Front Of House, but I've got people under me too. Sound's half the show."

"I'll talk to Landon. He's the one running the guard," Knight said. Together, the two women moved the amplifier through the giant hall and into the stadium area. Knight fought to ignore her pain.

Think about something else. Focus. Breathe. You've had worse. Lots worse. Just use the old training. Focus. Focus.

Slowly letting the hand truck's handle rise, Knight set the amplifier down beside the stage. "What say I do it right now, before the locals get hired out for our jobs?"

Keely bobbed her head. "Yeah. Thanks. I owe you one."

"I'll hold you to it. In fact, I'll get you to pay up at sound check."

"Sound check? That's like, in an hour."

Knight was already strolling away, her attention elsewhere. "Yeah. An hour," she responded distantly.

Tiny, the drum technician, was lying on his side while he worked on bolting down the bass drum to the raised drum platform. He grinned cheerfully as Knight approached.

"What can I do fer yah?"

"Actually, quite a lot." Knight knelt so she had no need to raise her voice above a soft tone.

Tiny grunted as he pulled on his wrench, tightening a bolt. "Yeah?"

"No questions asked. Right before sound check, I need you to stall Tré in the locker room until the rest of the band gets out. No more than five minutes. You can do that?"

"Is this with your little pranking war?"

"Yeah."

"I think I can do five minutes. I'll make something up."

"Okay. Good."

"Anything else?" Tiny shoved the leg of the drum, making sure it was secure.

"I'm going to bugger around with the kit. I don't want you to fix it 'til Tré's had a chance to figure out what's wrong. If Doug gives you any grief, I'll deal with it. You're not going to be held accountable or whatnot."

"Is this what you'll do while I stall him?" Tiny's eyes twinkled in his tanned face. "I could maybe suggest some things."

"No, we can tamper with the kit right now, if that's okay. I was thinking along the lines of having him hit things, and they fall apart. Some might need more force than others, so he'll get right into a song before anything happens."

"Yeah. I could do that." Tiny nodded, and scratched at his goatee. "I could take the damper out of the foot drum. It's not amazingly funny, but it'll throw him off." He set to tightening another bolt.

"Sure. And, would you be too bothered if I messed with the high hat? I'd help you clean it. I want to put something in there that'll explode."

"I don't know if our budget lets us blow up his cymbals."

"No, I don't mean like that. I mean putting something in there, that'll poof out when he pushes down on the pedal."

"Oh." Tiny sounded uneasy.

"I'd clean it all up. All you'd have to do is set his kit back to normal."

That promise immediately changed the technician's mood. "Yeah. Sure. Go right ahead!" He shifted to sit on his knees. "What do you want to do first?"

*Nick*

He was not completely sure whether or not he liked Texas or he hated it. Here, in Houston, he had at least expected to see some cheap blondes strolling around. Not that he would actually consider dating any of them, but they would be worth a laugh or a jeer.

There has to be some around here somewhere, he thought. With all these damn taco stores, and the sleazy western theme, they gotta be around here. If one doesn't walk by in the next ten minutes, I'll go attack one of those giant plastic cactuses, just for the hell of it.

His fingers itched to pick up a sharp object and begin carving graffiti into the wall. Unfortunately, the street was simply too busy to start any of his masterpieces. His specialty, engravings, required a great deal of time to complete. He could do one quickly, but it would look too amateurish for his taste.

Or else I'm just lazy.

Idly, he continued his patrol around the arena. The show would not start for hours, and he was taking the opportunity to steal a few moments of peace before he had to go back. He was dead tired, the most tired he had ever been since he had left home. He had arrived at the point where his vision began to fog over if he stood still for too long. All he could see clearly were the millions of little chores he had to do before he could actually sleep.

Nick sighed and hung his head. Slowly, he listed against a small outcropping in the arena's wall. He was too weary to even bother scrawling with the marker that was in his pocket. Last night, in a fit of blind stupidity, he had stayed up all night trying to patch cords and check wirings. He had accomplished a great deal, but there was still more to do.

"Hey."

Startled, Nick jumped and felt his heart bolt in his chest. Old street instincts took over, forcing him to swiftly press his back against the wall. Only then did he inspect his assailant.

"Holy shit, you're jumpy." Tré cocked his head to one side in amusement.

Embarrassed at his own display of nerves, Nick sneered viciously at Tré. Nick dared not to speak until his breathing was under control. He would not let the drummer think he was anything less than savage.

"If I stick my finger near your mouth, will you bite?" Tré asked. Nick could hear the challenge under the teasing words.

"Try it and find out." Before the words were out of his mouth, Tré's finger had sharply jabbed Nick in the ribs. Nick flinched away and clutched his side. Immediately, he jerked his hand away and curled it into a fist. "D'you wanna fight?" he snarled.

"No."

Nick bit back a great desire to smash in the drummer's face. "Then what do you want? You know what? Just, go away and leave me alone."

Tré ran a hand over his head and around his ear. He then held out his hand. Between his fingers, he held a joint that had not been there a moment before. "I've got another of these. We need to do a little talking. I've got a deal for you."

"I don't do that kind of stuff," Nick protested lamely.

"Sure you don't." Tré's smile was all too knowing.

Nick did not trust Tré for a heartbeat. "Not on the job. Maybe later."

"Yeah, joints later then. We need to talk, now."

"Listen, I don't deal with you and your fancy-ass rock star shit. You an' me got nothing in common, and I'll keep it that way." Coldly, Nick brushed past the drummer. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Like a cornered cat, Nick whirled around, eyes blazing. He grabbed hold of Tré's arm. "What did I just tell you? Leave. Me. Alone," he grated.

Tré's hand tightened on Nick's shoulder until the younger man's knees were in danger of buckling. Grinding his teeth together, Nick forced himself to equally increase the pressure he was putting on Tré's arm. In return, the drummer's grasp increased tenfold. The younger man cursed silently as pain flared all the way to his fingertips.

"All I need is five minutes." Tré sounded no more exerted than if he was lounging on a couch. "It's about your girlfriend. Trista." The pressure on Nick's shoulder dropped off until it was only a light clasp.

An involuntary breath slipped out of Nick's mouth. Out of reflex, he eased off on his own grip of Tré. "What about her? I swear to God, if you want to pick on her, you can just back off. She doesn't need anyone."

"Not even you?"

Nick looked away and then back at the drummer's blue eyes. He worked his jaw before replying. "No. Not even me. And that's the way it'll stay. She doesn't need you—or any of your friends—nosin' in."

"Good. We're on the same page then."

Nick frowned. "What?"

"Surprising, ain't it? We're not all out to get you. Basically, I need you to keep us away from her."

"Mike," Nick muttered under his breath.

"How'd you know?" Tré narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"It's pretty damn obvious. All you gotta do is say 'bass' and she blushes like her face is on fire. I come along and all she does is snap at me. She's afraid of me. She doesn't know the stuff I've done, but she has know what he's done. The shit he's pulled. And she's still afraid of me, and not him."

"Well, you do look like you just crawled out of a dumpster."

"So? What about all the girls he's been with? She's probably just a quickie for him. Girls who want that turn out like Keely. Trista'll never be Keely."

"Or Keely will never be Trista," Tré commented quietly.

Nick ignored him. "He's too old for her. I mean mentally too. I told her, I said, a dude that age has gotta have some problems—not that she listened anyways. It's not a hush-hush thing that he's been doing the drugs. I got nothing against using, a bit. But, c'mon! There's a point where you figure out that you're doing too much and you ease off a bit. To me, it doesn't look like he's figured that out yet. Have you seen his face? It's all bones and angles. And the bleached hair? At least I'm not a hundred years old and walking skeleton!"

Tré coughed and said out of the corner of his mouth. "Me an' the walking skeleton are the same age, give or take a few months, you know."

Nick's escalating rant stumbled to a halt. I was complaining to him like we're friends or something. What the hell am I thinking? Nick, you got to start paying attention. Just because you have a bed at night doesn't mean this place is any safer the streets. He closed his mouth and glared at the drummer.

"You tell her any of this," he warned, "and you an' me are gonna have some problems."

Tré sighed and recited dutifully, "Cross my heart an' hope to die while getting fucked by another guy. Happy?" He waited as Nick struggled to contain a laugh. "Or do you want me to do a blood oath? Another verse of promises?"

"No. That's fine. Now, what do you want?"

"I need you to help me keep Mike away from Trista."

"What for?"

Tré rolled his eyes. "Do I really need to explain that to you, of all people? Something about walking skeletons and basically how he's too 'experienced' or 'dangerous'," he made exaggerated air quotations with his fingers, "for her?"

"Who's she to you?"

"Nobody. No one." Tré's reply was too quick for Nick's liking.

"Really?" Nick asked skeptically.

"Listen, I don't want Mike chasing after her either. He stopped me from doing shit like this once, and now it's time for me to make a little payback." Tré leaned in and lowered his voice. "This ain't public knowledge, but he's on the rebound, and he's not thinking straight. Well, he's going after a girl," a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, "so I guess you'd call that thinking straight. But, you know what I mean. He's not being normal. Usually he doesn't say two words to the roadies. He's the one that keeps us away from you guys."

Nick tensed as he noticed one of the other heavy-lifting roadies wander around the corner of the arena. "Make this quick. I don't wanna get caught and bawled out. Is there anything else before I decide?"

"One thing." Tré raised a thick finger. "You gotta keep this under wraps. It's real important that Knight doesn't find out or we'll all be in shit."

"Tell me about it," Nick grumbled.

Tré flashed Nick a man-to-man grin. "So, are you in on this? All you have to do is chase Trista around and make sure she doesn't get any alone time with Mike. I'll try to help you whenever I'm not watching Mike. You know, help with watching Trista. If something comes up, tell me as soon as you can. If you can't, go to Billie."

"He's part of this?"

"Yep."

"Who else?"

"Nobody else really. We're trying to keep it small."

"Yeah, but you've got Keely workin' for you." Nick grinned in satisfaction at Tré's concerned expression.

After a moment of consternation, Tré demanded, "How did you know?"

"Put two an' two together. You two are hangin' out and you need people on the inside."

"So maybe it wasn't that obvious?"

"Not if you didn't know what was going on," Nick assured him. "Besides—" he let the sentence hang, as he noticed a familiar form ghost into view. "Oh shit. Here's Knight."

Tré threw a glance over his shoulder. "Listen—what's your name?"

"Nick."

"Listen," Tré hissed, "Nick, yes or no?"

Knight was heading straight for them. Nick's mind raced blindly until Tré hissed again, "Nick!"

"Yeah. Okay. I'll do it."

Tré's eyes sparkled. Nick squawked in surprise as Tré dragged him into a massive bear hug. Before the roadie began to struggle, Tré slapped him on the back and bustled off.

Nick was still gasping in shock as Knight stepped in front of him. "What was that about?" she asked.

"Nothing. He's...." Nick shook his head, hair sweeping into his eyes. "He's fucked in the head. What do you want?" Even caught off-guard, Nick managed to work a snarl back into his voice.

"Five minutes before sound check, you need to be in the hall outside the locker rooms." Without waiting for a response, or giving a lecture on truancy, Knight strode back into the arena.

Confused and curious, Nick stared after her. What the hell was that about?