Firebreak (Josie Gray Mysteries #4)(56)
“I bet there’s a hundred cars,” she said.
“Since when does the Hell-Bent draw a crowd at ten on a Friday morning?” Otto said.
They stepped inside and found a mass of people milling around the dance floor. Josie noticed pockets of people crying and hugging.
“Oh, hell,” Josie said. “You know what this is? These people are here for Billy.”
Most of the crowd was wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots but a few women wore dresses. Josie noticed Angela carrying a tray full of Budweiser over to a table surrounded by a dozen people. Grieving or not, she thought ten was a little early for a Bud.
Above the low rumble of conversation they heard raised voices coming from the stage, where they could see Slim Jim and Mick Sinner facing each other in heated conversation. Otto motioned his head that way and Josie followed him.
When they reached the stage they could see that Mick was holding a cable where he was apparently attempting to set up his sound system. Jim stood between Mick and the speaker and was yelling something that had to do with Billy. People milling around the dance floor were migrating that way to check out the argument. One of the patrons, wearing a cowboy hat and a black concert shirt that read BILLY AND THE OUTLAWS, yelled, “You tell him to get the hell off the stage, Slim. He oughta have more respect than that.”
“This is bullshit!” someone else yelled.
Josie followed Otto through a door to the left of the stage and walked out to stand between Slim Jim and Mick and the people on the dance floor so they could have a semiprivate conversation.
“What’s going on, fellas?” Otto said.
“This son of a bitch is up here about ready to do a sound check! These folks came out to pay respects to Billy. They’re hurting right now. We all are.” Slim Jim choked up and had to stop and take a deep breath. “We want a little respect.”
Josie faced Mick. “We actually came out here this morning to talk with you. You mind if we go back to the dressing room for a minute?”
He threw the cable he was holding onto the floor. “I got a job to do. I’m on the schedule this morning, and this is the only time I can make it today. I got people coming to town from Nashville to watch the band tonight.”
“You aren’t playing tonight.” Slim Jim said the words through clenched teeth.
“Like hell I won’t! I got a scout coming to hear the band. You know how hard it is to get someone from Nashville to travel all the way to West Texas? You had your break and you—”
Slim Jim raised a fist and reared back. Otto raised his own hand and stepped directly in front of him. Slim kept his hand in the air for another moment and then dropped it to his side.
Josie broke in. “Otto will talk this over with Hank. He’ll take into account Billy’s death and the schedule and what needs to be done for the crowd. He’s the owner here, not you guys. His decision stands.” The men stared each other down until Mick finally turned and walked back toward the dressing room. Josie took off after Mick and figured Slim Jim would follow Otto to take up his case with Hank.
Josie entered the dressing room and was pleased to see the other two members of the Calloway Boys: bass player Craig Wells and drummer Tim Holton. She had arrested Craig for possession of marijuana about a year ago. He gave her a crooked smile and tipped his head at her, looking vaguely embarrassed. Craig was a stereotypical doper with heavy-lidded eyes, a lazy smile, and slow speech. He was also an awesome bass player who’d been asked to tour with several big-name stars, most recently Kenny Chesney. Craig had notoriously turned down the offers, claiming allegiance to the Calloway Boys.
He sat on a tattered couch in the corner of the room with a binder and what looked like sheet music spread out on a large coffee table in front of him. Josie walked over and shook his hand and said hello.
Josie knew the drummer, Tim Holton, fairly well. He was sitting on a chair next to Craig, playing his drumsticks on his thighs. She and Tim worked out at the high school gym in the evenings on roughly the same schedule. Josie had talked to him about applying for the evening dispatch job when the job opened up in a few months. He had seemed genuinely interested. In his midtwenties, Tim looked more like a clean-cut engineering student from Texas Tech than a drummer for a country band. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a shirt buttoned almost up to his neck. He smiled and said hello when Josie reached out her hand to him.
She turned to see Mick standing in what appeared to be the kitchen area. Hideous kitchen cabinets from someone’s seventies kitchen remodel hung on the wall and a burnt-orange countertop ran the length of the wall and was cluttered with junk. The rest of the room appeared to be a jumbled mess of accumulated stuff from the various bands that played at the Hell-Bent.
Josie said, “I appreciate you talking with me, Mick.”
“You know what bullshit this is? Do you have any idea how much more talented our band is than Billy and the Outlaws ever thought of being?”
“Dude,” Craig said. “He just died, man. Lighten up.”
Mick turned on him. “We got a shot this weekend. Right? We might finally catch a break, and Billy screws us over again.”
“Dude, seriously.”
“I’m not kidding. Only Billy could orchestrate his death so perfectly as to screw me out of my chance to leave this little corner of hell.” He kicked a plastic chair and it clattered across the room as his band members exchanged looks that appeared to say, Here we go again.