Part 15 (1/2)
-But we're not at war.
-We're not at war? You don't watch the news? Or do you mean just you and me-we're not at war with each other. That's true. But the country, the United States of these Americas, we are most definitely at war, buster, and if you don't get that, then you are as bad as a hippy, and possibly worse.
-It's not like a real war. Like World War Two or the War of the Roses.
-Which was a very entertaining movie, but I do see your point. You're saying it's not a real war unless there's a draft. Unless the children of privilege are sent to fight, no war can be considered true.
-I don't know what I'm saying. Sometimes I feel like you put words in my mouth even when I say the words.
-Trust me, if I were going to put words in your mouth, I'd put better words.
-Exactly what I'm talking about.
-You're right, that was uncalled for. Or maybe it was called for, but I should have not answered the call.
-Can we just get on with the ... with whatever you have planned next?
-Here's the problem, Billy. I didn't really plan for next.
-Don't tease me, bro.
-You know how much I hate when you call me ”bro.” Or when you call anyone ”bro.” Or when anyone calls anyone ”bro.” Even ironically. Charlie did the same thing earlier. I don't know what made me angrier, him calling me ”bro” or him s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up a plan that we were nice enough to name after him.
-Sorry.
-But I'm not teasing you. I made no contingency for this sort of thing. I did not expect we'd end up on top of a hill with no money and the cops probably looking for us. In a stolen car.
-You don't know that it's stolen.
-I have a pretty good notion. I got it from Sven, and Sven didn't show. He's either in league with Charlie, or just a flake. Either way: stolen car. Though I must say, if you're going to steal a car, a Mini Cooper is not a bad choice.
-When you say no money, you mean not that much money. We've still got the one drawer's worth. That's like twelve grand, right?
-It is, or should be nearly exactly twelve grand. Which is exactly, or nearly, the same as no money. If I don't have fifty grand, I don't have anything.
-I'm just saying. As a contingency. We get six thousand dollars apiece, which is enough to probably get out of town and wait till things cool off.
-Billy. I'd tell you that I love you like a brother except I don't like my brother very much, so in fact I love you more than like a brother, or better than, you get the idea. But things are not going to ”cool off.” I don't even know what that means, ”cool off.” We bungled a burglary. We are on the run from the law, and we will always be on the run from the law.
-Always?
-Well, for a while. Until things cool off.
-You're a f.u.c.king chimp.
-Don't touch me.
-I said don't f.u.c.king touch me. What part of ”don't f.u.c.king touch me” did you ...
42. GUY TALKS TO VIOLET ABOUT FRIENDs.h.i.+P, LOVE, AND THE INTERCONNECTIVITY OF ALL THINGS, AND ENDS BY MAKING A POINT ABOUT THE IMPERMANENCE AND FRAILTY OF ALL HUMAN BONDS, SITTING ON HER BED THE ONE TIME HE WAS ALLOWED TO VISIT HER APARTMENT, FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE KOREAN CHECK-CAs.h.i.+NG FIASCO.
How long have we known each other, Violet?
-I don't know. Three weeks?
-Almost five months. Do you know how long five months is in friend slash lover years?
-Three weeks?
-It's like Krazy Glue years. Permanent. We're bonded together and nothing on earth or in heaven can ever separate us.
-I gotta go. By which I mean you should leave. Now.
-See you.
43. GUY TELLS BILLY THE STORY OF PANTHERZ, SITTING IN THE BAR WAITING FRUITLESSLY FOR THE ARRIVAL OF GREGORY TO DISCUSS HIS ROLE AS GETAWAY DRIVER, FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE KOREAN CHECK-CAs.h.i.+NG FIASCO.
Did I ever tell you the story about my friend's band? It's a good story. Well, it's not really a good story, in fact it's kind of a sad story and it doesn't even have an ending, but there are good parts of the story.
-When did you ever know someone in a band?
-Years ago. Back in Dayton. It was just these four guys from Peeper's Hollow, guys I knew from grade school. The singer was a jock but the guys in the band were freaks. When they started out they were really bad, and they had a really stupid name: Pantherz, with a ”z.” They'd play around town and n.o.body liked 'em, not even their family or friends. So they stopped. For like five years, they just disappeared.
-What happened?
-I told you: nothing. They just stopped. They didn't quit, or make any big p.r.o.nouncements about quitting, and every once in a while you'd see someone from the band out at the grocery store or the gas station, so it's not like they disappeared as people. They disappeared as a band. And then one day they came back. But they weren't called Pantherz with a ”z” anymore. They were called King s.h.i.+t and the Golden Boys, and they were unbelievably great. They played a show at a local bar, I think they opened for Horned Infirmary, it was at ... I want to say the Rock Lodge, but I don't really remember, anyway it doesn't exist anymore so what's the difference? Place down in the Oregon District. Absolutely blew my mind. I'd never seen or heard anything that musically powerful before, or since. It was like they'd made some kind of Robert Johnson deal.
-But no.
-But no, they'd just spent five years practicing, getting really good, and writing much, much better songs. The lead guy, King s.h.i.+t, obviously that wasn't his real name, I never did know his real name except that people called him William, jumped around onstage like a madman and sang like a madman about just crazy stuff, like, ”I am heaven's circus act,” or whatever. They had a song called ”Liars in Motion,” but I wouldn't have known this if the singer hadn't announced every t.i.tle before starting the song. Except ”starting the song” sounds tame compared to what these guys did. They hurled themselves at their songs, clattered through them like wild horses. Like they were desperate to get to the next song, and the one after that, because every song was better than the last.
-So then they got big?
-That's the weird thing. Still n.o.body in town liked them. I didn't understand that at first. I think maybe it's hard for people in a small town to embrace unmediated greatness. It's just hard to accept that these four guys, who look just like you and talk just like you and maybe you even know some of them or went to school with them, are any good. The argument being, I guess, well, if they're so great how come they're playing the Rock Lodge and not Scarlet Arena and how come they don't have a record deal and I don't hear them on the radio? If none of these things are true then it follows that they can't be any good. Because I found out-I actually did some research on this, I was mystified why n.o.body liked this band-that most people are willfully tin-eared with respect to music of any kind.
-Okay, then, what happened?
-They left town, of course. Went on the road. Started playing shows everywhere but in town, and the strange thing about that is when you go to New York City, for instance, from a small Midwest town, all of a sudden you're exotic, and therefore more interesting to a New York audience than a New York band would be. So you take exotic plus insanely great, which is a highly rare combination, and add a narrative, like, ”How come we've never heard of these guys before, and did you know they never play out but just sit around in a bas.e.m.e.nt drinking and playing music,” which adds a patina of authenticity to the band ... People in New York are desperately hungry for something, anything authentic-for a really real experience-you wouldn't believe it, and you also wouldn't believe how hard it is to find authenticity in New York, which is the second most artificial city in the country after here. Whereas in the Midwest it's hard to be anything other than what you are. In fact, it's ridiculous to be anything other than what you are, despite which some people try, which is never pretty. The upshot being, King s.h.i.+t and the Golden Boys are lionized in Gotham. Everyone loves them. Everyone is totally blown away. They sign a record deal within weeks, journalists fly in from London to interview them, celebrities come backstage to their shows. Everything changes. Until they return home, where nothing has changed. It's not like word travels along some kind of jungle telegraph about an obscure band from the Midwest that achieves sudden success. There's no way for the people in the band's hometown to know that anything's changed except that, well, they went out of town for a couple of weeks, which n.o.body would even notice because, as I said, even when the band was still called Pantherz n.o.body gave them much thought or noticed them. Noticed them particularly, is what I mean.