Purgatory Blues (2013), page 3
“Come, Frank is waiting for you”, Tony said with a smile.
Tony let Andy in through the gate and led him wordlessly around to the back of the club. They passed through another gate and a door, then went up a flight of stairs and passed through an office before they emerged in to the club itself. He’d had numerous problems navigating the pace that Tony had set due to his state of inebriation. “This way”, Tony said, turning around to make sure that Andy was still with him.
He showed Andy in to a V.I.P. area where there was an elevated booth overlooking the entire club. In the center of the semicircle sofa was Frank. Four gorgeous women surrounded him, two on either side. As Andy approached the table Frank motioned for one of the girls on his left to give Andy her spot. She stood and smiled at Andy before she walked across and joined the girls to the right.
“Ow are you Andy?” Frank asked in his Nigerian accent.
“I’m alright”, Andy said, taking a seat.
“Dis is my best costoma”, he said proudly to the ladies “e’s di party man”, he added and smiled. “For two months I don see you, you wa travaling ova seas?” Frank asked politely.
“Actually”, Andy began, uncertain how to break the news to Frank, “I found a new guy, his stuff is a bit better and he’s closer to home”. Frank was silent for a moment, Andy hadn’t considered that he might be embarrassing Frank in front of his women, “no offense”, he added.
“No, dis cannot be”, Frank adamantly said. He pointed to Tony who was waiting at the side of the booth like a butler, “my stoff is pewa”, he said, “new stoff, jes arrive, try and yewal see”.
Tony placed a small square mirror in front of Andy with four large lines of cocaine on it. Andy looked around suspiciously, wondering if it was some kind of set up. It was one thing to be sitting in a crowded nightclub with a drug kingpin, it was quite another to be seen doing drugs with him in front of no less than six witnesses. Andy looked at Frank questioningly.
“It is fine”, Frank said, “yew are my guest”, he gestured with his hand as if to say “you’re safe”.
Andy pulled out a bank note from his wallet and rolled it up. He was about to have the line when he hesitated and thought better of it. “After you”, he said to Frank, pushing the mirror forward and offering him the note.
Frank smiled. Andy knew that for any businessman in the drug trade, rule number one was not to use your own product. Frank knew that Andy knew that, and Andy knew that Frank knew that he knew. The point however, was not lost on Frank. He pushed the mirror towards the girl sitting next to Andy. “Angie will ave”, Frank said to the table.
She took the note from Andy and had the line, her action was slow and clumsy, she didn’t appear to be a frequent user, but when she lifted her head up she smiled and wore a euphoric look on her face. Andy was sure that she was on something else besides the cocaine.
She turned to him with her hypnotized smile, handed him the note and placed the mirror in front of him.
“Okay”, Andy said in resignation and took the note from her. He tapped the note twice on the mirror, tightened the roll and did a line quickly and smoothly with veteran ease. He felt his brain switch gears accompanied by a sobering rush. He sniffed hard and blinked once when he raised his head. “Nice”, he said. He decided that the other nostril needed company and immediately did another line, doubling the effect.
“Good?” Frank asked when Andy had raised his head for the second time, to which Andy nodded. “Okay, den you are with me now”, he said and slapped his hand on the table as though it was decided. Frank put his hand out to Tony who handed him an item. Frank passed the item to Andy. It was two little balls, tightly wrapped in black plastic. “Two eight-ball”, he said, “my gift for you”. An eight-ball was slightly more than three grams.
“Thank you Frank”, Andy said, shaking his hand.
“You stay for a drink?” Frank asked courteously.
“Thank you, no, I was on my way to meet someone in fact”. It was the most polite excuse Andy could think up on the spur of the moment.
“Okay, next time, you com see me again”, Frank said, standing up with Andy to shake his hand one more time. “Tony will show yew out”.
“Ladies”, Andy said with a nod before he left the table.
Andy walked away feeling halfway sober, the coke had helped him regain his faculties and it was much easier leaving the club than it had been entering it. As he passed through the final gate he bid Tony farewell before beginning the walk back to his car.
The incident with Frank had left him feeling dirty, but the two lines made his misgivings less pungent. He thought that if the kind of company he was keeping now included a man of Frank’s caliber, it was definitely time to re-evaluate his life. Rebecca and Maxine, Ben and Amy, it was all too much for one night. Andy decided it would be best to go home before anything else happened.
The drive home wasn’t a long one. Andy lived at the edge of the city on a rise that overlooked it. He drove in through the main gate of his apartment building and then into one of the two garages that he owned. From there it was up a flight of stairs to his front door. When he walked in he was greeted by the stale smell of trapped air fused with tobacco, half eaten meals, unwashed clothes and various brews of alcohol.
Somehow he always seemed to forget what he’d be walking in to, he tended to leave as soon as he woke and he always went to sleep too drunk to care about the state of his apartment. The air conditioner and air freshener were enough to mask the smell till he woke up. He employed both before he lit up a cigarette and walked out on to his balcony.
It was littered with cigarette butts, beer cans and bottles. The view however was a panoramic vista. One that Andy had long ago lost the capacity to appreciate. From his vantage point he could see the central business district, flanked on one side by the hotels and resorts of the beach and tourism district and on the other by the port and harbor.
Andy stood there, processing the events of the last few hours. Remembering the meeting with Frank made his skin crawl. He knew that it had to be a bad thing when a man like Frank was asking you to stay for a drink, he wasn’t the kind of person that any decent human being would want to be friends with. It forced Andy to ask himself a serious question, what kind of person was he now? He didn’t want to tell himself the answers. He knew they wouldn’t be ones that he’d want to hear. He knew one thing though…he knew that he didn’t want to be the kind of guy that was friends with a drug lord.
He thought about Ben and was forced to admit that he’d been more than right. He was heading in the wrong direction. In movie references, he was turning to the dark side of the force. He chuckled to himself at the thought then rebuked himself for making light of a serious situation. He knew that something had to change before tomorrow turned into yesterday and life became an unbroken loop of living three hours at a time, trying to keep a pace that no human being could sustain. He was only avoiding his pain. He would never outrun it.
He walked back inside and pulled out the eight-ball. As he unwrapped it he switched on the television and scrolled to an entry on his video player, wondering as he did, if he should still be living in the past. All he had was a large collection of home movies that he’d made when Elsa was still alive. He wanted to relive better days and more often than not, he went to sleep with the sound of her voice in his head.
He promised himself that tonight would be the last time and put on a video of them at the beach. Elsa was lying on a beach towel on the sand trying to read a book while Andy kept prodding her to talk to the camera. It only took two tries for her to give up on her book. Andy smiled to himself, Elsa would always play along with whatever game he came up with. He was making her point out everything on the beach to describe it in a funny voice.
He sat down on the couch and chopped up a line of cocaine on the coffee table in front of him, after which he poured himself a scotch from a bottle next to the sofa. The glass was on the table from the night before and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d washed it, but in his condition, it wasn’t something that worried him. He had the line and took a big sip of the scotch. He was certain the alcohol would kill whatever might have made the glass its home in his absence.
The pictures on the screen were mesmerizing, he’d watched the videos so many times that he’d by-hearted every word. He sat there in the dark, with only the glare of the screen illuminating the room…just enough to light the sorrow on his face as he reminisced.
“Are you going to play with that camera all day or are you going to come play with me?” Elsa asked, waving her long, dark hair at him enticingly.
“Can’t I do both?” Andy asked along with his voice on the recording, not quite matching it.
“Nooooo, you can n-o-o-o-o-o-o-t!” Elsa sang out in an operatic voice and flicked sand at him.
Andy had always thought of her as a living cartoon character. She was the kind of person that would do whatever came in to her mind without giving it a second thought. She was always so full of life, never missing an opportunity to make the most of every moment. Without her it genuinely felt to him as though there was no life left in the world. He emptied the glass of what scotch was left in it and set the timer on the television for two hours before he put his head down on the arm of the sofa.
“Look at the ships, quick!” Elsa said, distracting him.
“Yeah, I see them”, Andy whispered along with the recording with his eyes closed.
“Gotcha!” She said, tackling him and taking the camera away.
Andy smiled to himself, he lay awake for the next forty-five minutes, listening, remembering and mourning…before he gave himself to sleep.
Chapter 3
When Andy woke up the next morning he decided then and there that from that moment on, things were going to be different. He needed to get back to something that he loved. He needed purpose. He looked around and saw his guitars stacked in their cases in the corner of the room. Two Stratocasters, an Ibanez, a Jackson and two Gibsons. A thick layer of dust covered every one of them.
He pulled out the Gibson Classic from the stack and opened up the case to inspect it. It had been neglected for too long, but the case had protected it well. Aside from the strings needing to be replaced, it was tip top. He rummaged through a box of miscellaneous items nearby and pulled out a pack of heavy gauge Ernie’s. He changed the strings in under twenty minutes.
He tuned to D standard and then plugged in to the Marshall half stack that sat next to the guitar cases. With the volume level at two it was enough to make the walls vibrate. He ran through a set of riffs and scales, making sure that his muscle memory was all still there, he did everything from blues all the way to most extreme metal he could think of. When he was done, a smug smile of self-satisfaction crept on to his face. “I still got it”, he said to himself.
He packed up the guitar, showered, changed and got himself ready to leave for the day. He realized that he should eat but all he could find was some cereal that was well past its expiration date. He ate it out of the box and washed it down with a cold beer. He grabbed the guitar and left the apartment. Once inside his car he plugged in his pod and lined up some “Marduk” albums, hit play and began the drive. He was going to the place he used to call home…to see an old friend.
Jack Prescott was the president of the Vicious Reapers, a motorcycle club that operated out of a suburb that was in a leafier territory away from the city. It was a little town called Stockton. It was where Andy had grown up and where he and Jack had become friends. It was a place full of old wounds and fond memories. It was a place full of family and full of feuds. The last time he’d seen anyone from that part of his life was at Elsa’s funeral.
He knew there’d be mixed feelings from everyone he was going to see, but there was simply no way around it, being away for as long as he’d been made awkwardness upon his return inevitable. He’d known Jack for eighteen years and they’d met when Andy was only fourteen years old. Jack was like Andy’s older brother, he’d had his first beer with Jack, he’d smoked his first joint with Jack, he was in his first band with Jack and when he was old enough, he’d joined the motorcycle club that Jack’s father had started.
The club itself was not what one would expect after hearing the term “motorcycle club”. Unlike the typical biker gang, the Reapers were a strong part of the local community and they weren’t despised as a nuisance that people were forced to tolerate. Stockton was a big place, but not so big that you didn’t run in to someone you knew on just about every day of your life. As such, the inhabitants were wary of outsiders. As cities and towns grew, as time went by and life ran its course, the town, like any other, had seen its share of bad elements pass through.
Those bad elements however, were never afforded the chance to put down any roots, thanks to the Reapers. All of the local businesses were family owned and all of those families knew Jack’s dad. They respected him for keeping order in their town, so much so that it got to a point where, to make sure that the club stayed active and stable, those families paid a monthly fee to the Reapers. Those small donations helped keep the clubhouse and the bar and the rest of the MC’s operations running smoothly.
To anyone on the outside looking in, it might’ve seemed like the Reapers were running a protection racket on the town, but nothing could have been farther from the truth. What was given was given freely and in good spirit. As Andy neared his destination, he began to pass by sights unseen in many, many months. Each of them conjured memories of a life long forgotten and it felt good to remember the carefree moments of youth.
On Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays the club’s bar was open to anyone and there was almost always a party with a live band playing. It was a way to bring in some extra revenue. Andy knew that he’d find Jack there. He’d always liked to oversee things on those days. Andy reached the club’s premises and just as he’d expected, he found the main gate open. He pulled in to a parking bay and spotted Jack’s bike nestled near the entrance like a dragon protecting its lair.
Suddenly he felt a wave of emotion assault him. Thoughts like “how am I supposed to just walk in there after a whole year?” and “What do I say?” began to stir. The words “sorry I didn’t take your calls for months at a time, I’ve been busy drinking”, popped in to Andy’s mind, though he realized that the situation called for more than dry humor. Panic set in. He swung the car around and left, driving away as fast as he was able. When the club was a safe distance away in his rearview mirror, he slammed on the brakes, refusing to let his fear get the better of him. The A.B.S. didn’t save the tires from screeching. He punched the roof of the car as he shouted, “grow a spine fucker!”
A lone pedestrian passing by gave Andy a look like he was out of his mind and he turned away in embarrassment. He spotted a vacant lot ahead him. He drove in to it and hastily shut off the engine before pulling out one of the eight-balls from the night before. He cut two massive lines on the back of his phone using his credit card and then rolled up a bank note. He took both lines with urgency and they lit up his brain like a Christmas tree. He coughed once and sniffed hard, clearing his nasal passage, “that’s better”, he said to himself. He pulled out a flask filled with whiskey that he kept in the glove compartment and took a hefty swallow before starting the car. Now, he was ready to face Jack.
Andy drove back in to the Reaper’s lot and parked in the same spot as before. He got his guitar out of the trunk and headed directly for the bar. Even though the door was opened, he hesitated for a moment before he shook away the nervousness and passed the threshold. Sure enough, there at the counter was Jack. He was perched on a stool with his back to Andy, having a beer with one of his father’s old friends, Sam. “10,000 years” by “High on fire” had just started on the bar’s speakers.
Jack was everything you think of when you hear the term “biker”. He was a monster of a human being. A size twelve boot, hands like frying pans, a buzz cut and batman’s confidence. Andy used to say that Jack’s piercing pale blue eyes and dark hair made him look like the man Vikings meet when they reached Valhalla.
Andy cleared his throat loudly before he called out “hey”.
Jack was still for a moment then flexed his shoulders. He’d recognized the voice. He turned slowly, leaving his feet planted. He looked at Andy without any hint of an expression at first, but then it looked like he was trying to hold back a smile, “hey tough guy”, he said in his grizzly voice and turned back to his drink on the counter. “What’re you doing here?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.
There was tension in the air and Jack loved it. Andy could tell that he wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “I thought maybe we’d get the band back together”, Andy said, trying his best to conceal his feelings, he made it sound more like a suggestion than a request.
“You still driving a cage?” Jack asked without turning around.
“Yeah”, Andy answered.
Jack turned to face Andy. He had a toothy grin on his face. “Yeah?”
Jack hadn’t said anything to Andy when he decided to sell his bike and buy his BMW, he hadn’t been in the club for a year by then…but still…Andy knew that it had never sat well with him. He viewed it as a betrayal of sorts. Three years ago when Jack had given Andy nomad rights, it was with the expectation that he would leave for a while and then come back at some point. Jack saw Andy selling his bike as a statement that he wanted nothing to do with the club ever again. Andy didn’t say anything in defense. He simply shrugged as if to say, “it is what it is”.
“I’ll tell you what”, Jack said with a sneer, “you show me a tail light on the backstretch then we’ll get the band back together”. He turned back to his drink as though that was the final word on the subject…and it was. He was the club president. His club…his rules.
Andy walked up to the bar counter brusquely. “Four whiskey shots”, he said, without making eye contact.
