Entanglement

An old ‘70 charger was sitting out front of an old dive bar on the outskirts of the city, towards the desert. Metal music was pouring out of the windows and doorway. It was the last song by the local band, Playing With Fire, and their front man was maybe having a little too much fun, but no one really cared. They were too busy banging their heads to know the difference. The screaming guitars and vocals meshed perfectly with the smell of booze and cigarette smoke filling the air. The guitarist dropped to his knees, and began firing off a dizzying array of notes. The drummer shot him a scolding look, as if to say “dude, enough frivolous showing off.” The guitarist rose to his feet. “You guys have been great! We hope to see you all at the merchandise stand out back. CD’s are five bucks each, and have the whole set list. Thanks for your support! We’re countin’ on ya!” An hour and a half passed, and nobody showed up.

“Dante, don’t you think you should’ve waited to bring up the merch? To be honest, it kinda sounded like you were forcing them to come over, which obviously, didn’t work so well.” Kyle, the spiky-haired drummer, glared at their pushy and arrogant guitarist.

“Kinda like Tahoe, ‘Frisco, Hollywood-” Brian added.

“I get the point,” Dante snapped, shooting the bassist a glower and shoving his hair out of his face. “If we don’t sell any CD’s, or any merchandise at all, how are we gonna get anywhere? Studios cost money, and we don’t have it.”

“We could always sell your Charger,” Kyle quipped.

“We could always sell you,” Dante snapped back. “We’d save a lot of money on food right there.” He paused to scowl at Kyle. “On second thought though, who’d spend money on you?”

“Maybe that little old lady from Grand Rapids. Remember her?” Brian replied, lips twitching in a smirk. Kyle reddened. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered.

“Ah, come on man, cougars are fun,” Dante teased.

“You guys suck.”

The three of them started loading their equipment and unsold merchandise into the back of Kyle’s dilapidated old van. The driver’s side door was primer gray, with rust drifting from the door handle, the passenger side headlight was out, and an “alien onboard” sticker adorned the rear door window on the driver’s side. In other words, it was the requisite vehicle for an undiscovered rock band.

Dante climbed behind the wheel of his Dodge, and turned the key. The gigantic four-forty roared to life, rattling the windows of the bar. Dante slipped the four speed into first, and met his band mates on the highway, keeping an eye permanently trained on the fuel gauge. An old Journey song blared from the radio. Yeah, they can have my car, when they pry it from my cold, dead hands, he thought to himself.

Still though, I don’t know how the hell we’re gonna get the money to record. The next town will be better. I can feel it.

The grouped pulled up to yet another bar. It was their favorite L.A. watering hole. A little hole-in-the-wall joint called BBQ Bubba’s Bar And Grill. It was time for the group to celebrate yet another failed attempt at getting discovered.

“So, you guys are back again already, huh? What happened to we‘re gonna hit it big?” Bubba, the huge, balding, tattooed bar owner said with a pious chuckle.

“It just wasn’t our time yet. I gotta good feeling about the next town though. It’s gonna happen there,” Dante replied from under his ninth glass of Johnny Walker.

“That’s great! Maybe then you can start paying off that huge bar tab you and your boyfriends here wracked up.” Bubba said, still laughing incredulously.

“Oh c’mon, Bubba, do you really think I would go for perpetual bed-head here? Besides, you know I like blondes,” said Kyle, having yet another laugh at Dante’s expense.

“Laugh it up. You can be replaced ya know. With a rock,” slurred Dante. “Can I get another?”

“I think you’ve had about enough, son. I wouldn’t want the world’s next greatest musician to pass out on my table,” Bubba said.

“Bubba, I have always respected your advice. But it is my body, and I’m quite thirsty,” Dante whined.

“Not tonight, friend,” Bubba replied.

“Ah, fine.” Dante said, as he rose from his seat. He staggered towards the door. Dante began to lose what little balance he had, reaching for anything to stop his fall. His hand fell on a drink tray, knocking several full shot glasses over on a customer’s lap. Dante rose to his wobbly feet again and apologized.

“You asshole, those drinks were expensive, and this was my favorite shirt!” The drink-splattered man shouted.

“Hey dude, I already said I was sorry. What else do you want from me?” Dante replied.

“Well for starters, you can pay to replace my shirt. This was Armani!”

“Don’t have any money dude,” Dante said with a drunken laugh. “And besides, if you’ve got some pansy-ass Armani shirt what are you doing in this dump?” His eyes flicked to the slim blond with the fake tan and even faker boobs that was sitting with the spluttering Armani guy.

“Nice rack,” he slurred, leaning against the table. “You can hardly tell they’re fake! I suppose Abercrombie & Fitch over here paid for those, huh?”

The girl’s eyes narrowed in disgust as she made an indignant noise in her throat. “You asshole!” she said shrilly.

“Hey, I said you can hardly tell!” Dante protested. “It’s nice work, nearly perfect in fact. The only clue is that one is bigger than the other.”

The blond’s face went scarlet, and she promptly threw the contents of her glass in Dante’s face. Abercrombie & Fitch sprang to his feet, fists clenched. His chair toppled to the floor behind him.

“Hey!” Bubba shouted from the bar. “Outside!” He jabbed a thumb toward the front door.

“Let’s go, dickwad,” Abercrombie & Fitch growled, shoving Dante in the direction of the door.

“That’s not my name,” Dante said. He really wished the guy would stop shoving him in the chest. He just wanted to go pass out somewhere and all the shoving was pissing him off, on top of making him want to puke.

They wound up in the parking lot, a few curious on-lookers gawking at them from the doorway of the bar. Abercrombie & Fitch raised his fists and started hopping form one foot to the other.

“Come on, asshole,” he said to Dante.

“Really dude?” Dante replied. The guy swung a right hook towards Dante’s face, and Dante easily stepped out of the way, even if his knees were wobbly.

“Dude, you’re just gonna embarrass yourself,” he tried to explain to Abercrombie, who was still hopping around like a lame pigeon. “Don’t make me make you look like an idiot in front of Malibu Barbie over there.”

“Shut up and fight!” Abercrombie snapped, swinging his fist again. Dante caught his fist and squeezed his hand in an iron grip, sending Abercrombie to his knees with a howl of pain.

“All right, I tried to tell you. I guess all that money couldn’t buy you any intelligence.” Dante raised his free hand, balled it into a fist, and socked the guy hard across the face, sending him sprawling on the ground. The crack of bone crunching filled the air. Malibu Barbie let out a screech and tottered across the parking lot in her towering heels, kneeling awkwardly beside her fallen boyfriend. Abercrombie was lying on the ground, cradling his broken nose and making pathetic noises that reminded Dante of a new-born kitten. He was just turning to shuffle off to his car and sleep through the wicked hangover he would likely have in the morning, when he heard the wail of a siren and saw the red and blue flash.

Fuck.

“Aw c’mon,” he groaned. Two officers stepped out of the squad car and made their way towards him.

“What’s going on here?” one asked.

“I was…defending myself?” Dante responded, shrugging and trying to look innocent. The cops looked from him to the wailing guy on the ground, his shirt covered in beer and his own blood. They exchanged looks, and then one reached for his cuffs.

“You better buy me a drink before you put those on me,” Dante said.

“Seems to me you’ve had enough drinks tonight,” the cop replied, grabbing Dante and spinning him around to slap the cuffs on his wrists.

“That’s what Bubba said,” Dante mused. “Maybe I should have listened to the old fat guy. Old fat guys are usually right, right? Like Santa Claus. Or that Chinese dude.”

“Do yourself a favor, and stop talking,” the officer ordered. He opened the back door of the squad car and shoved Dante inside. “You have the right to remain silent. Please, exercise the right.” He slammed the door and Dante sighed, slumping against the seat.

Brian and Kyle are going to kill me for this, he thought as the car rolled away from the bar. He caught sight of something dark hunkered in the shadows cast by the neon sign. Fuck, my car!