7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Today they were leaving for the short tour leading up to their Vegas residency.
Bronx even set an alarm to make sure he didn’t oversleep and miss the bus.
Of course Cavalari was his second alarm—in case he somehow didn’t hear the first one piercing his ears.
He was already packed, so his only task this morning was getting himself showered and dressed.
Cavalari hauled his suitcases down to the SUV while Bronx finished up in the bathroom and then they were off to meet the bus.
Cavalari pulled into the lot and parked next to their big rig. Bronx glanced around the open space shocked to see he was the only one here, but they’d wait at least a half hour before he’d start to wonder if he’d misunderstood Dagger’s request.
Thirty minutes later the parking lot was still empty and that’s when Bronx started to wonder what had gone wrong, so he called Dagger.
“What do you mean, no one else is at the bus lot?” Dagger hollered into the phone at Bronx.
“Cavalari and I have been here waiting for a solid half hour and no one has shown up,” Bronx explained again. “Including you.”
“I was halfway to the bus lot but now it looks like I’ll have to go find the Demolition Duo before we can finally hit the road,” Dagger said.
“I have an idea where they might be,” Bronx offered.
“Start spilling.”
“At the band meeting I heard them talking about making an appointment to use Wheland’s playroom before we left today,” Bronx said.
“Are you fucking serious?” Dagger asked.
“They said they were running out of time to get over there,” Bronx said.
“Have Cavalari call Fizzbo and alert him to the MIA status of our two resident court jesters,” Dagger directed. “I’ll call Wheland and head over to his place to look for them.”
“Do you want me to continue waiting for everyone at the lot?”
“Stay put until you hear from me,” Dagger said and ended the call.
Bronx exhaled a long breath and exited the bus to find Cavalari. He didn’t have to search far since the man was standing like a statue at the bottom of the bus stairs.
“Bad news,” Bronx said. “Dante and Ashton are missing. Dagger wants you to call Fizzbo to let him know we’ve got two MIAs. Which guards are assigned to those clowns?”
“Deuce and Darby, I think,” Cavalari stated.
“I hope their resumes are up to date because chances are they’re going to be looking for new jobs after this.”
“Shit, I’ll give Fizzbo a call,” Cavalari said as he lifted his phone to his ear after hitting the speed dial button for his boss.
Bronx went back inside the bus and stretched out on one of the long couches. He was dozing when Cavalari entered the bus and sat in a swivel lounge chair in the living room. Bronx cracked one eyelid at him.
“Any updates?” Bronx asked.
“Not one you’re gonna want to hear,” Cavalari stated.
“Tell me anyway,” Bronx said and pushed himself up into a sitting position on the couch.
“Dagger talked with Wheland,” Cavalari said.
“He and Rooster are away on vacation but they gave Dante and Ashton permission to use their playroom. They gave them the security code for the house and also the playroom in the basement. The problem is, the security guards at the house used an old code a few times too many to gain access to the basement. Now the door to the playroom is locked up tight for twenty-four hours, or until the lock company who installed the special system comes to reset it. Could be a while.”
“Holy shit,” Bronx roared with laughter.
“No joke,” Cavalari said. “Dagger wants us to head out while he hangs back to collect these two fools and then they’ll ride to New Orleans on his bus.”
“You and me alone on a bus is a dangerous idea,” Bronx said firmly. “It’s a recipe for disaster. We won’t make it out of the state before we kill each other.”
“If you take the back bedroom and I hang around in the living room, we’ll never have to see each other,” Cavalari suggested.
Cavalari’s words were still hanging in the air between them when the psst of the bus’s air breaks releasing could be heard inside the cabin and the long vehicle began to roll forward.
Bronx shoved himself to his feet and headed for the back bedroom. “Fuck my life,” he groaned right before he shut the bedroom door. He hadn’t even crawled up onto the bed when his cell was ringing with a call from Dagger.
“I have an update,” Dagger said flatly.
“Yeah, I heard,” Bronx said. “My BFF and I are rolling out of the parking lot as we speak.”
“Good, you’ll have a day on us so you’ll have to do the radio interview in Tucson without us,” Dagger informed Bronx.
“Excuse me?”
“We were scheduled to do a full band interview with a radio station in Tucson,” Dagger said. “But now you’ll have to do it without us.”
“You want me to do a band interview by myself?” Bronx asked.
“It’s the same drill as it always is,” Dagger argued. “They already have the list of questions to ask you. Just answer them to the best of your ability.”
Bronx released a long slur of curses that blended together to make one long nonsensical word.
“Get a grip, Bronx. You’ve done a million of these interviews and this one is no different than the others,” Dagger spouted.
“How the hell did Dipshit and Chumlee get locked inside of Wheland’s playroom?” Bronx questioned. “And why can’t they unlock the door from the inside to get out?”
“From what I’ve been told, they handcuffed themselves together and then dropped the key out of range,” Dagger said. “Neither of them could reach the key, so they’re stuck there until someone unlocks the damn door from the outside.”
“I can’t believe they pulled this stunt the night before we hit the road,” Bronx stated.
“How’s the situation with Cavalari?” Dagger asked. “Are you both playing nice?”
“It’s only been a few minutes but we agreed to stay out of each other’s way,” Bronx confirmed. “I took the bedroom in the back and he’s staying in the living room, but if we do cross paths during this road trip I will not be held responsible for my actions.”
“Good luck with that,” Dagger scoffed. “He’s got a few inches on you and probably a good fifty pounds of muscle, too. The odds of you winning that particular battle are slim to none.”
“The extra bulk he’s carrying makes him slow,” Bronx added. “My leaner frame makes me faster on my feet like a ninja and for that reason, I’ll be the victor.”
“Keep dreaming,” Dagger teased.
“Explain to me again why we’re not flying to these gigs in New Orleans?” Bronx asked.
“Because we have media events lined up along the way that you’re going to have to do for us until we can meet up with you,” Dagger said. We discussed this a few days ago during the meeting at my house Have you forgotten already?”
“Of course not, but it would be nice to have something in writing that I can follow,” Bronx suggested.
“David Speen is our liaison for the media tour stuff,” Dagger explained. “He’ll be emailing the schedule to you and taking care of every last detail—including the hookup for the call-in interview. No need to worry about any of it. I promise. He’ll be meeting you in Tucson.”
“You make it sound so easy and we both know it isn’t,” Bronx snipped.
“I’ll give you a call once we hit the road with Dipshit and Chumlee. The bus carrying the guard team is about thirty minutes behind you,” Dagger informed Bronx.
“Fine. Enjoy your leisurely trip east while I’m on a hundred hour road trip straight into the bowels of hell with Cavalari,” Bronx grumbled.
“Don’t be such a drama queen. It’s not even thirty hours on the road, with several breaks worked into the drive, and you know we’ve clocked far worse than that,” Dagger argued.
“Whatever. No guarantee my guard will arrive in New Orleans alive. Just saying,” Bronx said. “Speaking of, do we have body bags stored somewhere on this bus?”
“Maybe you could use this time on the road to bury the hatchet—once and for all,” Dagger suggested. “We’re fucking sick of hearing about your beef with him.”
“How about I bury him in the desert instead.”
“Fucking fix it, Bronx!”
“I’m not sure it’s fixable,” Bronx replied.
“I think it’s a matter of tolerating each other at this point, but being in an enclosed space for this amount of time, without distractions, is going to be pressing the limits of our endurance.
Which is why I’m not making any guarantees that either of us will arrive at our destination without needing medical attention.
You may want to have an ambulance on standby, just in case. ”
“Make it happen, Bronx,” Dagger said sternly. “I’m counting on you.”
They ended their call and Bronx had to stop himself from pitching his phone at the closest wall.
He couldn’t risk shattering it when he needed at least one means of contacting someone on the outside of this traveling torpedo on wheels.
He got comfortable on the bed and rolled onto his side then closed his eyes.
What he needed was a hard body pressed up against him to make him forget who he was sharing this bus with.
But in order to find a “one and done” guy, he’d have to lose his personal guard to make that happen.
He doubted Cavalari would be stupid enough to let him slip out of his noose long enough to get laid.
Somehow he managed to get a couple of hours sleep until a car horn honking on the highway next to the bus woke him.
He slid off the bed to use the toilet in the primary bathroom and grabbed his Gibson acoustic guitar to fiddle around with something that kept playing inside his head on a repeating loop.
In about an hour he had intricate runs of notes using a rapid staccato beat laid down and recorded on his phone.
Best part? The lyrics were dirty as hell.
Anyone following the band would know this song was created by him.
Bronx wasn’t typically the one who wrote the music for Black Ice but occasionally when inspiration struck he’d rise to the task and record whatever moments of brilliance he came up with while messing around on his guitar.
Sometimes it was shit but other times it was good enough to bring to the band.
Several of his pieces ended up on Black Ice albums and one track he wrote made it to number three on the Billboard Charts, which was his personal best to date.
He played the music straight through a few times and lyrics began to float around inside his head. The need to slam into a hard, willing body spilled out in the form of song phrases and Bronx quickly jotted down the sexy lyrics as fast as they came to him.
~ Pound Town ~
Rocking hard bodies, rocking through the night.
Rocking under stage lights, damn, it’s quite a sight.
Rocking in the morning. Rocking althrough last light.
Rocking under satin sheets. I’ll rock your body right.
I’ll rock you long and hard, then I’ll rock you nice and deep.
I’ll rock you on your side and I’ll rock you while you sleep.
Rock with me, baby. We’ll rock together ‘til dawn.
I’ll rock you up against a brick wall and then I’ll rock you on the lawn.
Rock you in the front seat of my vintage Porsche with the top rolled down.
We’ll rock ‘til we’re a sweaty heap, but I’ll never slow it down.
I wanna rock you ‘til your legs give out. I’ll rock you while I’m singing this song.
Then I’m gonna rock your tight heat all the way to — Pound Town.
We’ll be running on fumes but still rocking with everything we’ve got.
I’ll rock you on the kitchen table. I’ll rock you open on the couch.
I’ll rock you soaped up in the shower and I’ll rock you on the bed.
I’ll rock you on a roller coaster while you’re giving me head.
I’ll rock you on the bus. I’ll rock you on the beach.
Ain’t no place I won’t rock you, baby, once we get to—Pound Town.
I’ll still be rocking you in—Pound Town.
All the way to—Pound Town.
We’ll be using extra lube in—Pound Town.
Mercy.
“Shut the fuck up in there or I’ll punch your face all the way to Pound Town! At the very least, until you stop breathing. Both options would be fun as hell!” Cavalari shouted from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Go fuck yourself!” Bronx yelled back. “I’m working!”
“Take a break, so I can get some sleep, ass-hat,” Cavalari hollered.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your sleepy-time,” Bronx ranted. “Maybe I’ll sit out there and work on this new song! I’ll lull you to dreamland with nothing but my music. How would you like that?”
“You’d be breaking the agreement we made to stay out of each other’s face,” Cavalari argued.
“I’d rather use your face as a punching bag and watch you bleed,” Bronx admitted.
“Just give me another thirty minutes to rest my eyes and you can bang away on that sad, little guitar of yours,” Cavalari pleaded.
“Sad little guitar? Are you fucking kidding me?” Bronx questioned. “This guitar probably cost more than your house!”
“If you spent that kind of money on an instrument then you got ripped off, my friend.”
“First of all, we’re not friends , not even close, and second, this acoustic guitar is worth far more than I even paid for it,” Bronx explained. “Shows what you know about professional quality instruments.”
“Not my area of expertise,” Cavalari grit out. “I’m paid to excel at one thing and that is to keep you alive.”
“And yet you spend a lot of time talking about the many ways you want to kill me,” Bronx chuckled.
“The irony of that isn’t lost on me,” Cavalari stated.
“I’ll give you ten minutes and not one minute more,” Bronx threatened. “After that I’ll wait until I know for sure you’ve fallen back to sleep and then I’ll . . . ”
“Never mind. Forget I asked,” Cavalari growled near the door and Bronx smiled from the bed. He loved riling up Cavalari. It legit turned him on something fierce but he’d never admit that to anyone.
“Get back on the couch and I’ll see how quiet I can be,” Bronx said. “But I take no responsibility if my guitar should happen to slip from my hands and bash you on the forehead. Just saying. It could happen. Sleep tight, Mr. Squidly.”
“Don’t put yourself out for me, Allison.”
“It’s Alauson, you prick,” Bronx seethed.
“Potato, poe-tah-toe,” Cavalari teased.