Thunderbowl - Lesley Choyce [15]
I made a lunge to grab him, but instead ran smack into the side of the car. I bounced back to the curb and fell in a heap. The car had stopped. I stood up and looked down at Richie. He was rolling over on his side, his head down under the front license plate. The wheels had come so close to running him over.
Slowly, Richie got to his feet. I saw the fear, the terror in his face.
The driver, a fat man maybe fifty years old, got out and started screaming, “Oh my God! Are you all right?”
Richie was speechless. He shuffled over to the curb and just sat there with his head hung down between his knees.
Al and Drek walked over to me. Their clothes were torn and Drek’s glasses were busted.
“I’m quitting,” I said. I couldn’t take any more of this. I’d just have to learn to live without music.
Richie had the dry heaves. Ike and Louie were trying to calm him down. The driver of the car had gone into hysterics. “The guy just threw himself under my wheels. What was I supposed to do?”
“You can’t quit, Germ,” Al said. “Not because of them.” He pointed at The Mongrel Dogs.
“It’s not because of them. It’s what’s happening to me,” I told him.
Chapter Twelve
I went home that night and told my parents what had happened. Nobody gave me a lecture.
“What are you going to do now?” my father asked.
“I’m going to figure something out,” I said.
“Can we help?” my mother asked.
“I don’t think so. But thanks.” It felt good to be home again.
In the morning I phoned Stewy and told him that Thunderbowl needed to meet with him. I said it was urgent. Stewy sounded annoyed, but that was nothing new. I got Al on the line next and told him to get Drek. I wanted them to meet me at The Dungeon in an hour.
Then came the hard part. I had to convince Richie to bring himself and the other Dogs back to The Dungeon.
“Are you out of your mind?” he said on the phone. “You nearly got me killed last night.”
“Come on,” I said. “Just be there.” Then I hung up.
I was sitting on the back steps of The Dungeon when Al and Drek showed up. Richie’s pickup pulled in right behind them. You could feel the tension building as everyone got out on the sidewalk.
I didn’t give anyone a chance to say a word. “I want to make a deal,” I said to Richie. He had a cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. I noticed the chain he was wearing for a belt.
“We don’t make deals,” Louie answered for him.
“What kind of deal?” Richie asked.
“I want The Dogs to share the gig with Thunderbowl when The Dungeon reopens. Two nights a week for you. Two nights for us.”
Al grabbed my arm and started to twist. “You’ve lost your marbles, Germ-brain. We don’t make deals with them.”
“Then you won’t have me on guitar, man. This is the only way I keep playing,” I said, loud enough for The Mongrel Dogs to hear.
Al and Drek looked stunned. They waited for me to say something else, but I just kept my mouth shut and let the words sink in.
“We’ve gotta talk,” Drek said, grabbing my other arm and leading me toward the van.
“No,” I insisted. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I pulled away from him and walked over to Richie. “What do you say, Richie?”
“What are we supposed to do in return?” he asked, grinding his cigarette out with his boot.
“Nothing,” I told him. “Just play music.”
Stewy appeared just then. He looked like he thought he had stumbled into an alligator pit. He couldn’t figure out why the alligators weren’t fighting. He looked warily around. “What’s going on?” he asked.
I explained the arrangement. I told him that everyone had agreed to it. No one said otherwise.
Stewy looked off down the alley at some overflowing trashcans, like he was studying garbage. Then he turned to me. “I like it,” he said. “Thunderbowl and Mongrel Dogs, together under one roof. If you can keep from fighting each other, it just might draw some more people. You’re on.”
Chapter Thirteen
So it’s Friday night and Thunderbowl is tuned up and about to begin. But tonight we’re not playing The Dungeon. We