Purgatory Blues (2013), page 4
The bartender was new and hadn’t met Andy before so Jack intervened before any more words were exchanged. “They’re on the house”, Jack instructed the bartender, making sure to avoid any discomfort.
As the bartender placed each shot glass on the counter, Andy picked them up and drank them down as smoothly as though they were filled with water, placing each finished shot on the bar gently and precisely. When he was done he hefted his guitar case up next to Jack and left it there. “I’ll be back”, he said.
No one said anything in response. The guitar was a promise that he meant it. Andy walked out of the bar knowing exactly what to do. If Jack wanted a race, then a race is what he was going to get. He got in to his car and headed for Charlie’s bike shop. Almost every club member had been a customer of Charlie’s at some point in their lives. He was the Bonnie to their K.I.T.T.“s.
The drive was a short one and he was there in under five minutes. He parked in the lot and walked up to the entrance, a bell sounded as he pushed the door open, alerting the old man behind the cash register. The man who looked up from the magazine he was reading was grey, balding and wore glasses with a neck strap.
“Andy?” he said with surprise.
“Hey Charlie”, Andy answered, greeting him with a smile.
“Oh my god”, Charlie said, staggering the words with happy laughter as he came around from behind the counter, “I thought you’d fell off the face of the earth son”. He gave Andy a hug and held him at arms length to get a look at him.
“I almost did, but I’m trying to climb back up”.
“That’s my boy”, Charlie said and patted Andy on the shoulder, “this a social call or?” He left the sentence open, waiting for Andy to finish it.
“I need a bike”, Andy said, “something that can take out a Honda VTR Firestorm”.
Charlie looked at Andy over the rim of his glasses, “you racing Jack?”
Andy nodded, he didn’t have to explain anything more to Charlie, he knew all about the affairs of the club. After Jack’s father had passed away Charlie had become Jack’s unofficial conscience.
“I figured it’d come to that at some point”, he said. “You know it’s not the bike, it’s the rider. Why don’t we make it equal?”
“Well, I’ve been out of practice for a while, I could use an edge”, Andy said to him.
“Well, come on then son”, Charlie said in resignation. “I think I’ve got what you’re looking for”, he added, taking Andy around the shoulders and leading him through the shop.
They walked through the rows upon rows of bikes to the back of the premises where Charlie’s workshop was. In the middle of the room, amidst all the workbenches was one lone ZX 10.
“Some guy brought this in to trade for a Harley, had it sitting in his garage for four years. I was just about to put it on the showroom floor, took me a month to get her back in shape, something to keep me busy, but she’s one hundred percent now”, Charlie said, “I can give you a good deal on her”.
“Ninja huh?” Andy said, crouching down and taking in the curves of the bike with his eyes.
“Ninja”, Charlie said, offering reverence to the term.
“But it’s green”, Andy said, turning to Charlie with a frown.
“You want to look pretty or you want to win kid?” Charlie asked rhetorically, “you can spray it later”.
Andy pulled out his credit card and handed it to Charlie with a wry smile.
“Titanium”, Charlie said as he accepted the card, noting its high rank, “I’ll be honest with you kid, I didn’t care for your book much. It didn’t seem very realistic”.
“Everyone’s a critic”, Andy said while he flipped up the bike’s kickstand.
Andy wheeled the bike through the shop while Charlie took care of the details associated with the purchase. When he’d reached the cash register he dropped the kickstand and left the bike near the door.
“So when’s the race?” Charlie asked.
“Right now”, Andy said, “mind if I leave my car here?”
Charlie looked at Andy over the rim of his glasses. Andy looked back at him and nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing kid”, Charlie said. “You got insurance?”
“I’ll call my guy later”.
Charlie nodded, “here, come with me”, he said, calling Andy with a two finger gesture.
They walked over to the rider’s accessories and Charlie looked over Andy for a second before picking out a full body, black leather bike suit, gloves and guards.
“Here”, he said, passing the items to Andy, “put these on, it’s on the house”.
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need them, what I’m wearing is fine”.
“You’ve never been on a beast like that before son and it’s been a while. I’ll feel a whole better if you suit up”.
“Alright”, Andy said, not wanting to stress Charlie out more than he had to.
“Here, put your stuff in this”, he said, handing Andy a little backpack, “you can change in the back”.
Andy went in to the workshop and changed in to his new gear, but not before he had another two lines, the previous two were beginning to wear off. It took him a while to get into the bike suit. He’d never worn one before. Usually they just used a bike jacket, jeans and boots. The suit was designed to breathe but after the coke and the day’s alcohol intake, he felt a little claustrophobic. He put his clothes and other items in to the bag and wore it on his back. When he emerged from the workshop he found Charlie with a huge grin on his face.
“I look like one of the X-men in this thing”, Andy said.
“Let’s hope it gives you super powers then, you’re going to need them”, Charlie said, handing Andy the keys, “good luck”.
Andy took his helmet from Charlie, pushed the bike outside and mounted up. When he hit the ignition the bike growled like a monster coming to life. He turned to Charlie, shouting over the rumble, “don’t worry, it’s just like riding a bike”. Andy closed his visor and rode out.
Charlie watched till Andy was out of sight, “cocky son of a bitch”, he said to himself and smiled.
Andy should have taken the long route back to the clubhouse. Anyone else would have wanted to feel out the bike and experience each gear to see what it was capable of, but he didn’t think it was necessary. His confidence was chemically induced. He was back outside the clubhouse in under two minutes. He wanted to get the race over with and out of the bike suit. He’d beaten Jack before and he was sure that he would do it again, especially with his fancy new Ninja.
Andy pulled up in the middle of the club’s parking lot and began hammering the throttle. The noise would bring them out. It was like slapping someone in the face with a glove or throwing down a gauntlet. Sure enough, ten seconds later Jack, Sam and the bartender were outside. Jack had a big smile on his face. Andy tossed him his backpack and Jack handed it over to the bartender.
Andy was starting to feel the alcohol and coke from the last two days, the heat in the suit was killing him and his heart rate was a mile a minute. Jack mounted his bike and pulled up along side Andy, they both opened their visors to speak.
“Nice bike”, Jack said with curt nod, to which Andy simply revved in response. “Follow me”.
Jack rode to the straight outside the club parking lot, they’d be starting from there. The course was three straights, two medium corners and one hairpin. The hairpin faced a cliff with a metal guard barrier, it was the last corner and then they’d have run the course. It was a route they’d done hundreds of times before. He turned to Andy and showed him three fingers. Andy nodded and Jack began the count, revving once, then twice, but there was no third. They both engaged gears and they were off.
Andy rocketed forward leaving Jack as a spec in his mirror. He smiled to himself, confident that Jack had no idea what he was up against. Before he knew it he’d come up to the first corner so fast that he had to brake hard, leaving rubber on the asphalt. As he corrected himself and reengaged Jack passed him on the inside of the corner and bulleted away.
“Fuck!” Andy shouted inside his helmet.
They hit the next straight and Jack began weaving from side to side. All Andy’s power meant nothing if he couldn’t use it and Jack was effectively trapping Andy behind him like a rat in a cage. He found Jack’s pattern soon enough though. Jack faked towards his left but Andy gambled that he wouldn’t follow through. He instantly dropped a gear and shot past, pulling off a wheelie in the process.
The risk paid off for mere seconds, Andy had once again approached the corner too fast and had to slow in to it, the bike was too fast and his reaction times were slowed from the whiskey. His rear wheel let out a small screech before Jack once again passed him on the inside of the corner.
They hit the straight and Jack started weaving again, keeping Andy behind him. He had one chance…he would have to overtake Jack on the hairpin. Andy tailed Jack all throughout the straight, matching his every move, waiting for his opportunity. He timed it perfectly. As Jack slowed into the hairpin and pulled to the left Andy dropped a gear and came at him from the outside, just when he thought he had him he felt his back wheel losing traction and begin to drift out from under him. He had two options, he could either wipe out gently and lose, or try to regain traction, but if he did it wrong…he’d flip. He decided to chance it.
Just then he looked to his left and saw Jack passing him, in his impatience he corrected too early. When the back wheel hooked the road his momentum going into the turn caused the bike to jerk violently to the right. Suddenly Andy was airborne. He’d been thrown from the bike and was now sailing towards the cliff. He hit the dusty earth and rolled with the fall as best as he could. The Ninja struck the ground inches from where he landed, having the inertia of a boulder being launched from a catapult, it bounced over him as it spun, ploughing craters through the soil.
A moment later the bike ripped through the guardrail like it was tin foil with Andy following quickly in its path. He saw the cliff’s edge approaching and there was no railing to save him. He was done for. He put his arm out for what was left of the mangled steel, knowing that all he could do was hope there was something within reach…and then he was gone.
Seconds later a helmet-less Jack ran up to the edge shouting Andy’s name. He found him clinging to a piece of the tattered metal, scrambling for purchase on the cliff’s face. He reached down and grabbed at Andy’s collar, yanking him up with force. When Jack had pulled him all the way up he hugged him as though he would never let him go again, “you’ve got balls you crazy bastard, I’ll give you that”, he said in relief. “If ever you doubted that there’s a god, you’ve got your answer now”.
Andy hugged Jack back and then pulled off his helmet, dropping it to the ground. He was breathing heavily. When he’d collected himself he turned back to the cliff and looked over the edge at the bits and pieces of the Ninja spread out on the rocks below, Jack joined him, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. It was a spectacular wreck.
“I should’ve taken the insurance”, Andy said.
“Yeah”, Jack nodded.
Chapter 4
Andy was bruised and battered but it was nothing that they couldn’t repair themselves. They didn’t need a hospital. The damage was purely superficial, the kinds of injuries that looked worse than they really were. A salve and bandages were all that they required to remedy his flirtation with death. Of course, the real pain would come later. It never hurt as much on the first day.
The fact that Andy had lost the race wasn’t even a consideration. It was an act of atonement, an apology without words. They didn’t have to speak about it. As far as Jack was concerned, Andy was back. The first thing that he did when he walked in to the clubhouse with Andy’s arm around his shoulders was to announce that there was a show to put on.
The relevant people were called and made aware, news that the Reapers were going to play a show spread like wildfire and people started filing into the bar from as early as three-thirty in the afternoon. The parking lot became a metal maze of cars and bikes and people of all shapes and sizes wearing all manner of rock “n roll apparel began to swell the clubhouse. The atmosphere was everything it should’ve been before a big show.
Andy had spent most of the time from having his wounds tended till the show meeting with old friends and recounting the story of the race. Conversations about where he’d been and what he’d been doing were tactfully avoided.
It felt good to be amongst family once again. They drank hard enough that every now and then Andy would sneak away to have a line to make sure he’d stay sober and keep up the pace. Catching up with this many old friends required a lot of liquor. Every member of the club took turns spending time with Andy to welcome him back, save two. Made conspicuous by their absence were Allen and Melissa.
He didn’t really expect to see them though. There had never been any resolution to their conflict so Andy would just as soon not have them around. He assumed that they’d been polite enough to stay away from that initial gathering. Theirs was a troubled past, Melissa was Andy’s ex-girlfriend and Allen was the reason why Melissa was his ex. Subsequently, that whole event was the principle reason why Andy had chosen to leave the club in the first place. From his point of view, there was never any way that the three of them could reconcile. He couldn’t imagine any scenario where he would be okay being in the same room as them.
Looking back at those events made it easy for Andy to hate Allen. Andy was able to take every bit of pain that he experienced on a daily basis and lay it squarely at Allen’s feet. He believed that if it hadn’t been for Allen’s disloyalty, which had set him on this tangent in life, none of the terrible things he’d experienced would ever have occurred. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that his logic was flawed, but he also knew that it was easier to have someone to blame than to feel completely helpless.
He thought that it was a strange thing to find himself wishing that the best thing in his life had never happened, if only to save himself from the hurt of having it ripped away. Stranger still was knowing how corrupt his thoughts were, yet clinging to them as one would a life raft. His pain ran so deep that it had begun to taint his very reasoning. Sitting in the clubhouse, verbally fencing with his companions, dodging every mention of Elsa’s name, he realized that his whole life had become about avoiding the pain of losing her.
A few of the other local bands had turned up to support the Reapers and the “Filthy Bastards” got the show started at seven “o clock that night. Andy used the time to adjust his bandages and get more cocaine in to his system. When he was done, he watched the rest of the Bastards” set from backstage. There was a small break before “Poisoned Banshee” started their performance.
It was then that Andy, Jack, Luke and Dennis got together to go over their set list. Andy was on lead guitar and vocals, Jack was on bass, Luke was the drummer and Dennis was rhythm guitar and vocals. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t practiced in years. They’d performed their material on so many occasions that the songs were etched into their minds in a way that time could never erase. They did, however, stick to the easier tracks in their catalogue, purely to avoid any undue hiccups.
When they finally took the stage an hour later they were greeted with thunderous applause, shouts and whistles from a sea of old fans and new ones. As Andy walked up to the microphone he felt a mixture of loss and a strange sense of belonging. Something about standing in front of all those people with his friends reminded him what permanence felt like. Perhaps some things, at least, could last. It felt like coming home.
He waited for the crowd to settle down, it looked like they wouldn’t but Andy was patient. It was the expression on his face that did it…they were expecting to see someone bouncing off the walls with excitement, instead they saw something they didn’t expect in Andy…profound gratitude. He was overwhelmed by their support. They’d packed the house with only a few hours of notice given. Suddenly it was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
“It’s been a long time”, Andy spoke in to the silence, “it’s good to be back”. He turned around and nodded to Luke who began a four count on his cymbals, the crowd erupted once again. It was the opening to a fan favorite. The song was called “Demons”. Their music spanned a wide range of genres. There were clean vocals and death metal vocals, there were progressive elements and post metal influences, they were sometimes technical and sometimes groove orientated. They didn’t care about the labels though. To them it was all just music. The philosophy that allowed them to function as a group was that labels were for the critics who talked about music, not for the people who made it.
They played for a full hour and their audience loved every minute of it. A mosh pit formed at some point but everyone was well behaved enough not to cause any serious damage. There was even a little bit of crowd surfing, but the limited space meant that the journey didn’t last very long. When they’d reached the end of their set, the crowd began to shout, “We want more!” The chant only became stronger as their desires went unfulfilled.
Andy took in the crowd with a smile on his face and turned to Jack, “what the fuck do we do now?”
“Golden oldie, Enter Sandman”, Jack suggested, thinking that the song had a nice pace to close out the set with.
They looked to Luke and Dennis, both of whom nodded in agreement. Andy switched to a clean channel and started up the opening melody. The crowd went crazy and all he could do was smile. He’d forgotten how good the feeling of being on stage could be. They ripped through the Metallica classic adding their own personal flavor, even though it was a song that they’d never practiced together before. It was just something a musician was expected to know how to do.
When it was over they took a bow to a huge ovation. It was a feeling that he never wanted to end. He soaked it up, knowing that it would. They put down their gear and the four of them shared a group hug on stage to the applause of the crowd. They took another bow, waved to everyone in attendance and then exited through the back of the stage. Most of the people in the audience weren’t just nameless faces. They were people they’d grown up with. They were people who’d come to their first show. They were an extended family.
