Rock Chick Reckoning (Rock Chick #6)(42)

Unplugged al the time with just guitars,” Pong told Hugo then turned to me. “You could go unplugged tonight. Shake it up a bit.”

Unplugged?

Shake it up a bit?

Okay, enough.

I put my hands on my hips, narrowed my eyes and leaned in. “We are not gonna go unplugged and you two are not gonna do any patting down of anyone. Do I make myself understood?”

“Shit, mama. Be cool,” Hugo said, putting his hands up, palms out.

“Man, I thought you gettin’ back together with Mace would mean you’d be gettin’ it regular again and you’d go back to bein’ Sweet Stel a Bel a not Stel a-on-the-rag,” Pong added.

I turned to Floyd but kept my hands on my hips. “Floyd, hit the red button on the alarm panel,” I ordered.

“Now, why would I do that?” Floyd asked, stil grinning.

“Because it’s a panic button and the police wil come immediately. I figure they’d appreciate the novelty of being cal ed before a crime occurred,” I answered.

Floyd just kept grinning. What he did not do was hit the panic button.

Whatever.

“I think that’s our cue to go,” Buzz, for the first time since they arrived, spoke.

“Man, Stel a being targeted for murder puts her in a bad mood,” Pong muttered and, fast as a snake, Floyd’s hand moved and he slapped Pong upside the back of his head.

“Don’t be stupid,” Floyd hissed under his breath.

Hugo, Leo and I were staring at Buzz. Pong’s gaze swung to him as wel . Buzz was white as a sheet.

Okay, maybe I’d rough up Hugo and Leo but I was going to kil Pong.

“Shit, sorry Buzz,” Pong murmured.

Buzz looked at Pong a beat, did a little shrug and looked at me.

“You gonna be safe up there tonight?” he asked.

I bit my bottom lip. That was the sixty-four thousand dol ar question.

Then I nodded and said, “Mace has it covered,” and I prayed to al that was holy that I wasn’t blowing sunshine up my own ass.

Buzz shook his head. “Ain’t gonna lie, I need the money.

We miss this weekend’s gigs, I’m up shit creek. I need the music too. After Linnie…”

We al held our breath.

We knew what he meant. We needed the music just as much as he did. We al loved Linnie and music was what brought her to us.

Buzz continued, “Anyway, it ain’t no good if you’re not safe.”

I walked up to Buzz and put my hand on his neck.

“Mace has it covered,” I repeated, this time softly.

Buzz stared at me, then he nodded and the band took off. Al but Floyd.

I watched them go, assessing my motley crew (okay, maybe morbidly memorizing them in case I was shot or poisoned or some such before I saw them again).

Pong was tal and skinny with a mass of thick, dark hair that he kept long, past his shoulders, and teased out in a wild mess for our performances. He also put on eyeliner which Hugo gave him shit about but even I had to admit it worked for him mainly because it made him kind of look like Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow. He had dark eyes, thick eyelashes, a heavy brow and a personality wilder than his hair (which said a lot).

Hugo was a huge black man, skin like midnight, perfect and smooth. He had broad shoulders and muscular thighs the size of tree trunks. He shaved his afro close to his skul , dressed to the nines even though the rest of the band usual y wore jeans, had an easy, wide, white smile that always reached his lazy, dark brown eyes and a deep, velvet voice that made Barry White sound like a pansy.

Leo was slight of build, about an inch shorter than me and had an aversion to shampoo. He had messy, light brown hair, blue eyes and a mel ow attitude that was induced through copious amounts of pot smoking. His clothes hung on him and had more than the al usion of being dirty. This was something for which he took a good deal of shit from both Pong and Hugo (Pong dressed rock

‘n’ rol , tight, low-slung jeans, ripped t-shirts and, on occasion, when the spirit of Steven Tyler flowed through him, Pong wrapped thin scarves around his neck; Hugo, as I already mentioned, dressed like he was torn from the pages of GQ magazine). Leo had no fashion direction and couldn’t care less. His grunge look worked for him, the girls dug it (mostly because girls would dig anyone onstage wielding a guitar). Leo was more interested in getting stoned than girls which was another thing Pong and Hugo gave him shit for.

Then again, Hugo and Pong didn’t real y look for excuses to give shit, they dished it out regularly.

Buzz was blond, blue-eyed and had a trailer trash Brad Pitt thing going. Tal and lean, (mainly because he didn’t have enough money to eat), he had a great body molded, not by working in a gym, but by the hand of a benevolent God. Buzz appearing onstage in a tight t-shirt and faded jeans caused an electric ripple of groupie girl desire to sweep through the crowd every single time. It helped that he gave off the vibe of a sensitive soul who’d worship the ground his woman walked on. He gave off that vibe because that was who he was, committed and monogamous. He’d given more devotion and energy to Linnie than, in the end, (even though now the reminder of it made me feel guilt) many of us thought she deserved.

When the door closed behind them, I turned to Floyd.

Floyd had thick head of gray hair he kept fashioned in a greased back ‘50s pompadour. He was mostly thin but sported a slight beer bel y, wore glasses rimmed in black like Buddy Hol y’s, had a quick grin, a sweet chuckle and long-fingered hands that were magic on a piano keyboard.