Last night, I went to rehearse some new material with the guys. I was surprised to see Scott Hemato back with us. I figured the damage to his Flying-V would have dissuaded him from coming back. Oh well, that’s actually useful. I pitched two new songs, “Salted Wounds” and “Final Taste of You”. The guys liked both songs, but didn’t like the arrangement of their parts as much.
When I received a text from Buch, the guys got pissed.
slEDGe eyed me suspiciously. Goddammit, if he knows anything, or if he notices that I’ve lightly padded my chest for the illusion of still having ribs, I really don’t know what I could’ve done. I told them that I had a previous arrangement that I had forgotten about. They didn’t seem to buy it. But that couldn’t matter at the immediate second. The night was young, but still too short.
I slid into my car, and sped off to Buch’s place. Just as I had arrived, I saw Art standing around nervously. I didn’t know Art that well, but he doesn’t seem like the nervous type. I gave him a good honk of the horn to make him piss himself, if he could. He sure as hell jumped a mile. I stuck my head out and shouted at him to help him recognize me, which worked, and I stepped out to chat with him(He was spooked about some black SUV’s that had been tailing him), before joining him with heading inside.
After passing Don, hearing some piss-poor musak rehash of “Rock the Casbah” in the elevator, and screaming my opinion of it upon exiting the elevator, we had finally arrived at Buch’s conference room. As we had entered, Buch instructed me to stand guard by the door, so I shut the door, locked it, and stood to right of it. As I had turned around, I noticed our guest. She was definitely a looker, but I got a feeling in my still-regrowing ribcage that told me to watch her like you would watch someone waving a loaded gun at you. She came to eventually reveal herself asRegina Chapman and as a member of the Sabbat clan. Having heard that, I did quite a job of restraining myself from attacking her rib-curling associating ass as proxy to the pricks who had done me dirty. I thought otherwise within minutes of explaining herself. It didn’t take much to convince me of her innocence, but it took the world for Buch’s belief, so I watched as he tore her story open to see if it bled lies. Through much arguing, interjections on everyone’s part, and a phone call to that Antonio Banderas look-alike snake, Victor, for Buch to finally give her credibility and sanctuary from the murderous members of her clan.
But, oh no, that wasn’t the end of this. Not at all.
The moment we step out, the SUV’s that Art was freaking out over were parked outside of the building, and had lit up with blue and red lights. The kind that the pigs use. Body armored pricks popped out and pointed rifles at us, with another pig screaming accusations at us. He said he wanted to ask us questions. If that was true, than why the f*ck did he bring his armed-asswipes to ask us anything other than our “last words”?
Buch talked them away, thankfully. I talked big game, and I would’ve backed my words up, but I knew I wouldn’t live through that. No way in hell. It was then, that we parted ways. I returned to SLyMe’s place in northern Queens, where we fleshed out the songs and practiced our next masterpiece setlist. Then I headed home, and prepared to pass out on my bed.
And just as I thought I was going to drift into sleep, my phone rings with a number I could not recognize…