Thunderbowl - Lesley Choyce [14]
The more I listened, the more I liked it. The crowd was hooting and hollering. They loved it—and I could see why. The Mongrel Dogs had turned all their nastiness into some very fine music.
Not all of Thunderbowl was in agreement with this opinion.
“Listen to that garbage,” Al said.
“I think I’m going to puke,” Drek said, pretending to heave his guts.
Al pulled us to the back of the hall and into the men’s room. The music was still so loud he had to shout.
“I say we get back at them for closing down The Dungeon.”
“We don’t know they started the fight,” I reminded him. “And even if they did, this could make things worse. Just forget it.”
“Forget it? Are you crazy?” Drek said. “Richie tried to get you canned, Germ, remember? We owe him something.”
Drek started cracking his knuckles.
“Listen,” Al said in a sort of whispered shout. “I have a plan.”
I tried to talk them out of it, but it didn’t do any good.
When The Mongrel Dogs took their break, we waited until we were sure they were outside, having a smoke. Then, in a flash, we jumped up on the stage.
I felt really strange picking up Richie’s guitar and flicking on his amp. I kept asking myself, “What am I doing this for?”
Al sat down at the drums, turned on the microphone. Drek picked up the bass and thumped out a few low mean notes. “We thought you guys might want to hear some real music,” Al told the audience.
Al launched into the beat for “I’m Alive.” Drek was piecing together a bass riff. My fingers felt like they were frozen. The audience looked puzzled. A few people clapped. But as soon as I saw The Mongrel Dogs appear at the back door, I wished I had never shown up.
The Dogs were outraged. I watched Richie, Ike and Louie walking through the dancing kids toward us. They were boiling. Behind me, I heard Al give out a maniac laugh. Drek just kept on playing like nothing was about to happen.
I tried to think of an easy way out of this. Nothing was coming but bad news.
So I just stopped playing in the middle of the song.
“Jeremy, you chicken…” Al growled at me through clenched teeth. He was still playing. Then Drek stopped.
I offered Richie back his guitar. Maybe I had chickened out. Or maybe I had realized all along that we were being jerks.
Richie grabbed the neck of his guitar and swung it hard at me like it was a battle-ax. I dodged out of the way just in time and watched it smash into his amplifier. The sound was like an explosion. The guitar busted in half.
Louie had jumped on top of Drek and was trying to choke him. Al had already put a hold on Ike and had him nearly down to the floor. It was getting very ugly.
Several men from the community center started yelling at us. Soon they grabbed us and threw us out into the street.
“If any of you ever show up back here again, we’ll have you arrested,” one of them said. We had wrecked the dance and we had ruined the gig for The Mongrel Dogs.
But the war was not over. Richie was ready to come at me. His fingers were curled up into claws. There was hate written all over his face.
Al and Drek and the two Dogs were already bashing away at each other again. Some kids had come out to watch and were egging them on.
And I was mad too. But you know, I was angrier at myself than at anyone else. How did I let myself get into this?
“Let’s call a truce,” I said to Richie.
“Sure,” he snarled. “Right after I ruin your face.”
I tried to reason with him. “Look, there’s no point to this.”
“So what?” He swung a lethal fist toward my Adam’s apple.
“We shouldn’t have messed around with your equipment,” I admitted.
“That’s right, and now you’re going to pay!” Richie threw himself in a headlong dive for my gut. He wanted to bring me down where he could do some real damage.
He charged so fast and so mean that I wasn’t about to stand up to him. Instead I dodged out of the way. He lost his balance and fell headfirst into the street.
A car was coming, and the driver slammed on