Trouble Bored Read online

  “Nice!” Wolf yelled.

  “What. The. Fuck. Steve?” I asked.

  “Why the fuck would I say that?!” Derrick asked.

  “Girls like to be called ugly. Makes them like you,” Steve proclaimed. “Don’t know why. Tell her she’s ugly and fat. Then nut in her ass and take her soul!”

  “YES!” Wolf yelled.

  “Jesus Christ, Steve, he’s been in the band for five hours and you got him collecting souls?” I asked.

  “Ah, it’s good for him.” Steve waved me off.

  “Take her soul?” Derrick asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Take it!” Wolf yelled.

  “It’s when you cum in a girl's asshole,” I said to Derrick, “They call it ‘taking her soul.’ I call it ‘cumming in a girl's asshole.’ And you should probably get consent first because they tend to notice.”

  “Ah, there’s none better than taking a soul, brother!” Steve yelled.

  * * *

  Something hit the windshield.

  “Whoa!” Derrick yelled.

  I noticed Ryder’s arm sticking out of the window of my station wagon in front of us.

  “Is that Silly-String?” I asked. “What the hell are they doing?”

  More Silly-String hit the windshield. Derrick turned on his wiper blades, but that just smeared it around. He hit the windshield washer fluid button, which helped him see; but there was still Silly-String all over the sides of the windshield and the front of the van was covered.

  “Oh, shit, son!” Steve shouted.

  “Ram him!” Wolf yelled.

  Everyone was cracking up—until we whipped past a New York State Trooper SUV.

  “Oh shit!” I yelped.

  “Fuuuuck.” Derrick scrambled to further clear his windshield in vain.

  The Trooper was officially on our ass. Everyone sat back in their seats and stared straight ahead as if that would make him disappear.

  “Is he pulling us over?” Steve asked.

  “His lights aren't on,” Derrick pointed out.

  Silly-String hit the windshield again.

  “NO!” Derrick yelled.

  “Steve,” I shouted, “call Ryder and tell him to stop!”

  Steve dialed Ryder and put him on speakerphone.

  “Yo. How’s that Silly-String taste, son?”

  “Dude, cops are behind us! Stop spraying us!” Steve demanded.

  We could hear Ryder yell at Nico, “Cops!”

  We extinguished our joints. We debated the merits of rolling our windows down to release the four joints worth of smoke at once but decided that would be too obvious. Paranoia set in as the Trooper closely followed.

  Inside the police SUV, however, the Trooper was calmly calling in Derrick’s plate number.

  “Dispatch, can I get a read on a blue minivan? License plate Delta, Alpha, Charlie, 8-2-0-8?”

  A few moments later, dispatch responded, “Belongs to a ‘Catherine Knott.’ No reports on it.”

  “Hmm.”

  The Trooper was generally uninterested but still curious about the Silly-String.

  We were in full-blown panic, however. The sun was just beginning to set, its red and pink rays illuminating the pool of weed smoke. We were trapped with our own thoughts while we suffered in purgatory. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion.

  I was hyperventilating in the front seat. Wolf blasted himself with Axe body spray and passed the can to Steve, who gave Derrick and I each a good douse.

  Steve was still on the phone with Ryder, whispering, “We’re fucked, dude. We are so fucked!”

  The Trooper pulled out alongside the van. Tears were running down Derrick’s face. He white-knuckled the steering wheel, refusing to make eye contact. The Trooper sped up and signaled for Derrick to let him in. The cop was now positioned between Derrick’s van and my station wagon.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Ryder was still on speakerphone.

  “Ask them how much shit is in the car,” I told Steve.

  “How much shit is in Gray’s car?”

  “Too much, son. Way too much,” Ryder replied.

  “Can they eat it?” I asked.

  “How much of it can you eat?” Steve asked.

  Nico chimed in. “Gray, if we ate all of the drugs we have stashed in this car, Ryder and I would both overdose and die, you fucking idiot.”

  “Well, fucking great, Nico!” I yelled. “Why do you just take a ton of drugs everywhere you go?”

  Ryder had a thought. “What if we just start throwing this shit out the window now?! There’s no chance the cops will be able to find it all. We’ll be less fucked right?”

  Back in the police SUV, the Trooper was now running my station wagon plates.

  “...Alpha, Echo, 9-3-8-2.”

  “Plates look clean,” dispatch returned. “Belongs to a ‘Grayson Winters.’ No warrants. No priors.”

  “Huh,” the Trooper said, “looks like a couple of kids probably off on a camping trip. No reason to bother them, I suppose.”

  We couldn't hear it, but Nico was performing the sign of the cross on himself.

  “Do me next, man,” Ryder pleaded. “Steve, you still there?”

  Our van was silent. Steve, Wolf, and I stared at Ryder’s voice coming through Steve’s phone.

  When Steve finally spoke, his voice cracked. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Yup. Yeah. I'm here, buddy.”

  “Am I on speakerphone? You got me on speakerphone, right?” Ryder cried.

  “Yeah, bud. We can all hear you.”

  “Good,” Ryder said somberly. “Hey, I just wanted you guys to know you were good guys, you know. My good friends. Alright?”

  Our eyes were starting to water. And it wasn’t from the smoke.

  Ryder continued, “My boys. Ride or die, right? I’m gonna miss you…I love you guys...but I ain’t going down like this. I ain't going down without no motherfuckin’ fight!”

  We were on the edge of our seats trying to determine what Ryder’s next move would be, when inside the Trooper SUV, dispatch broke in on the Trooper's radio.

  “Car 105, can you take a run down to Quickies Gas Station off Exit 30? They called in a report that someone pissed all over the bathroom. Again.”

  “Aw, what the hell? Again?” the Trooper asked.

  “Roger that, Car 105. Said they got the walls, the sink, the mirror...god damn sickening.”

  “Roger that, dispatch. I'm on my way.”

  The Trooper pulled back out from behind my station wagon and got in front of Nico and Ryder for a couple hundred feet before pulling off on the shoulder, letting both of our vehicles pass.

  Steve and Wolf watched out the back of Derrick’s van and saw the Trooper pull a U-turn then head off down the highway in the opposite direction.

  “What the hell just happened?” I said as we crossed the Vermont border.

  Eighteen

  Green 90

  As successful as Luna’s baby shower was, Natalie remained frustrated. It was taking her twice as long to clean up without me there.

  Luna walked in from the parking lot.

  “Thanks again for all your help, Natalie. We can't fit anything else in our car so we're going to take off now. You're stopping by later, right?”

  “You’re welcome, Luna,” Natalie said. “Yeah. Just as soon as I finish up here.”

  As Luna walked back toward the exit, she passed my mom in the hallway.

  “Congrats again, Luna!” my mom said.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Winters! It was great to see you!” Luna waved as she exited the venue.

  My mom approached Natalie.

  “Wonderful shower, Natalie. Luna is lucky to have a sister like you. I'm very impressed.” She sighed. “It's a shame my son decided to not show up.”

  “Well, I mean, Gray got caught up is all,” Natalie replied. “He works so hard on the band. This big opportunity came up and he went for it.”

  “Don't be silly,�
� my mom laughed. “If he was working hard, he'd have gotten somewhere with it by now. I constantly try to encourage him to grow up, but unfortunately he's almost never around these days.”

  Natalie was starting to feel uncomfortable. “He has been staying at my apartment a lot. Gray does work really hard, though. Today he's playing with a band those guys used to idolize. You should have seen how excited he was.” She paused a moment. “I know he gets distracted, but he doesn't mean to. It's just the way he's wired.”

  “Here.” My mom handed Natalie a stack of my mail from her house. “I feel bad for you, Natalie. You seem to have a decent head on your shoulders. Hopefully someday you'll grow out of him.”

  There comes a point in most road trips, if you’re lucky, when you actually reach your destination. We had hit a 30MPH strip of road about twenty five minutes back and were now gliding cautiously through an old Main Street. One of those small towns in the middle of nowhere that seemed like it used to be something more than a coffee shop, a diner, and two competing antique furniture shops.

  We always held our breath when traveling through those places. They were usually speed traps with only one way in and one way out. None of us could survive another run-in with the police today, especially some small-town sheriff with a grudge against New York plates.

  That main road spit us into a forested area. We were used to playing the shitty part of whatever city we got asked to play in, so it felt a bit eerie driving into this dark rural area looking for a venue.

  Eventually, we saw the sign: Green 90 Next Right. A wide entrance funneled traffic into a skinny road just wide enough for two lanes. The long driveway stretched through the woods around a bend leading to a massive parking lot. It was well-lit—and completely empty.

  Green 90 was in the back, a venue we had only ever heard of. It was a big old barn, but it had modern entrances and we’d seen pictures online—the stage, sound, and lighting were state of the art. How it drew enough of a crowd to bring in bigger acts was beyond me, though.

  Our caravan was the only sign of life in the lot. No lights on in the venue either.

  “Where should I park?” Derrick asked.

  I shrugged. “Pull around back, I guess.”

  Everyone got out and started stretching while looking around suspiciously.

  Wolf was the first to break the silence. “Why isn't anyone here?”

  “Is this the right place?” Steve asked.

  “The sign says Green 90.” I knew that wasn’t really an answer, but I was trying.

  “Yeah, but is the show actually at Green 90?” Steve asked.

  “Why would the show be somewhere else?” I said.

  “Why would there be no one here, Gray?” asked Wolf.

  “I have no idea. Let's check the front,” I said.

  We walked around to the front doors. Locked.

  “Gray,” said Wolf.

  “The back, maybe?”

  I was walking a bit faster now. No one attempted to keep up. I tried the back door, but that was locked as well.

  “What the fuck?”

  “We're beat,” Steve stated.

  “We're not beat,” I snapped back. “I don't know what's going on, though. Doug said the show was here, tonight.”

  “Maybe it got canceled,” Wolf offered.

  “Do we have any way to check?”

  “Call the promoter,” Steve said.

  “I don't have his number. My phone is in five pieces, remember?”

  Wolf rolled his eyes. “Fucking amazing. Ugh. I can't believe I left work for this.”

  I tried pulling the back door open again, then started banging on it with my fist.

  “FUCK.”

  “Nice, Gray,” said Wolf.

  “How was I supposed to know? No one called me. Doug said to show up by seven. We showed up.”

  “It's eight thirty.”

  “What difference does that make? You think they canceled the entire show because we were running late? I doubt it.”

  “Well, maybe something happened and the only people who know were here at seven. Maybe if you didn't drive a piece-of-shit car, we'd have been here on time!”

  Steve saw where this was going. “Wolf...”

  “Fuck you, Wolf,” I said. “Why didn't we take your new-as-fuck car, then? You know damn well you all assumed we were taking my car to the show. We always take my car to the show. Maybe if we didn't always take my car to shows, it wouldn't have fucking broken down!”

  The woods behind the venue began to rustle. The argument paused while we all noticed two girls walk out. One of the girls, for inexplicable reasons, was wearing a giant lifelike, possibly homemade, crow’s head mask. We were all completely silent as the girls walked past us. Ryder curiously followed them.

  “What part of Burlington are we in exactly?” asked Derrick.

  I turned back toward Wolf.

  “What the fuck do you want from me anyway? Call Doug and ask him if the show got canceled.”

  “I don't have Doug's number,” Wolf scoffed.

  “No shit! None of you have Doug's number. Doug's number is in my broken-fucking-phone! Just like every other promoter's number,” I yelled. “Why do I get stuck keeping track of all this shit while you guys get to fuck around? I'm up all night trying to find us shows. Label support. I have to wait around all night trying to get us paid while you get fucked up and Steve gets fucked!”

  “Kiss my ass! We were doing all of that before you were in the band. You were the newest member until Derrick; you're paying your fucking dues!”

  Derrick looked around the parking lot, pretending he wasn't watching the argument happen.

  “Oh, so now I guess Derrick will take over, then? I fucking doubt it.” I turned to Derrick. “No offense, Derrick. I'm not upset with you. You're honestly a great driver, and you are becoming a great friend to us all.”

  “That's true, Derrick,” Steve added quietly. “We all feel that way.”

  But I wasn't finished. “I do everything I can do, everything no one else wants to do, and you expect me to predict the fucking future too? You were all with me. All day. My car breaks down; we almost die; my phone gets run over.”

  I pointed at Wolf. “I saved your ass from getting the cops called on you for your shitty attitude! Natalie is going to fucking kill me when I get home. And, yeah, the show is fucking canceled. Fucking perfect. FUCK!”

  I punched the hood of my car and it fucking hurt. Then I stormed off. Just started walking the fuck away. I was so pissed off. Nico walked off after me.

  Nico and I rounded the corner to the building and spotted Ryder—eyes wide.

  “Yo,” he whispered. “Look!”

  I did a double take as I tried to process what I was seeing. Ryder had followed the two girls to the front of the venue. They were walking off into what looked like a huge line of people waiting for the doors to open. My eyes lit up as we witnessed car after car pulling into the parking lot.

  “How the fuck...?”

  Nico patted me on the shoulder. “I don't think the show's canceled, dude.”

  * * *

  Nico, Ryder, and I were shuffling back behind the venue to tell Steve, Wolf, and Derrick what we saw when the back door burst open. A tall man in his early 40s wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans, a black undershirt, and aviator sunglasses, stood in the doorway.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the man asked.

  I was the first to speak. “I'm...um, we're Trouble Bored. We were supposed to play here tonight. We were supposed to meet Ben Watts?”

  “I’m fucking Ben Watts. Ah—right. Doug sent you guys. Cool, baby. I need you to load in asap.”

  “Sure...no problem. We thought the show might have been canceled when we first got here. There was no one around and…”

  “Canceled?!” Ben Watts cut in. “We don't cancel shows at Green 90 just because some small act fell off. That's why you're here.”

  “No, I meant there were no cars or people here. It was
a ghost town a half hour ago,” I said.

  You would have thought this guy was cutting a television wrestling promo the way he went off on us.

  “Let me tell you something, motherfuckers. My shows run like clockwork! Everyone in this town knows it. I don't know if you noticed, but this beautiful shithole is halfway in the middle of fucking nowhere. This isn't the great Albany City. People here know Ben Watts puts on the best shows around. My shows start on time and end on time. No fuckin' around. People show up at doors—doors are at nine tonight. First band is on at nine-thirty, your asses are on at ten, which means you need to load your shit in now!”

  “This guy is making me nervous,” Derrick whispered to Ryder in the background.

  “WHAT’S THAT?” Ben screamed.

  Derrick pretended to cough and clear his throat, making zero eye contact with anyone.

  “OK, yup, we're on it,” I said. “Let's go, guys.”

  Ben walked away.

  As we grabbed our stuff, Nico gave us all a piece of his infinite drug-dealing wisdom:

  “Anyone who wears aviator sunglasses indoors has cocaine either in them or on them.”

  Green 90 was massive compared to Mario’s. A huge bar split the room down the middle. This venue looked like it could easily accommodate two thousand people. We were in awe.

  “Look at the size of that fucking stage,” Nico said.

  It was thirty feet wide and four feet off the ground. Mario's entire stage could fit between each microphone. The PA speakers were the size of refrigerators, and they were hanging everywhere.

  Normally, that’s all it would take to excite the hell out of us—and it did—but what really intrigued us were the stacks of gear and stage props lining the entire stage, covered in large black sheets.

  “What is all that stuff?” Derrick asked.

  “Is that Anger FM’s gear?” asked Wolf.