Bull Bodine, swaggered around the parking lot in a menacing fashion.
Aaron, looking ridiculous in velvet pants and a white fur coat, pointed his finger at Ronnie and said, “I knew we should have used an American tour manager. This never would have happened with someone who knew about these things.”
Something inside Ronnie snapped. It didn’t matter that the Belkos and all the crew and all the musicians were watching. He grabbed Aaron by his furry lapels and slammed him against the side of the bus, which was covered with oil and slush. And when Ronnie had him lined up for a massive head butt, a Mackie special, he just backed away, dusted off his hands and walked toward town. It was time for a change.
He spent three nights in Staghorn, in a seedy little room at the Queen’s Hotel, wondering how to get back to New York. He had no suitcase, no coat and less than a hundred dollars in his wallet. But those concerns would soon fade to nothing. He was on the verge of his fateful meeting with Jimmy Waters, which now, almost three years later, had led to another fleabag room in the middle of nowhere, this time with a dead body in his trunk.
He got to his feet and walked to the window, gazing out at the parking lot. No other cars in sight. No traffic on the road. Even so, he hopedto God that Cal didn’t start to reek before nightfall. And with that sour thought, he tried to sleep.
At sunset, he drove three miles to the nearest town and bought himself several small tins of evaporated milk. He called Adrian from a pay phone and asked how everything was going.
“Fine, Arsey. Tickety-boo. The drive to Campenola was a bit of a lark, you know. It’s not often we have a full day off.”
“About Cal, Ade. How are the lads taking it?”
“Relieved, I’d say, that poor Cal has moved on—though I’m sure they might feel different if they knew exactly where he had moved on to.” He laughed at his own witticism, and Ronnie could hear Kerry’s harsh cackle in the background. Like a couple of old hens, he thought.
“Of course,” Adrian continued, “Sonny’s been in a right ugly mood all day. Thinks we should cancel tomorrow’s show. But he’ll be all right. How’s everything there, Arsey?”
“Fine. I plan to be in Campenola before showtime, with or without a bass player. How’s Jim taking it?”
“Touch and go there for a while. Got tears in his eyes like he’d lost his best mate. But I made him a pot of tea and asked Eura to look in on him. When she left his trailer, she said he was sleeping like a baby.”
“Good man, Ade. See you tomorrow.”
By the time Ronnie returned to the motel, it was dark, so he took the opportunity to open his trunk and grab Cal’s suitcase. In the room, he went through the boy’s belongings one more time and found nothing that could tie the corpse to Jim. There was no driver’s licence or birth certificate, no identification at all. The only personal item in Cal’s wallet was a high school photo. Nor would there be any record of him with Customs and Immigration, even though they had crossed into Canada several weeks ago. The border guard had smiled kindly when he saw the name on the side of the bus—The Jimmy Waters Revival—and when Ronnie showed him their itinerary, playing to church groups across Ontario, the guard just waved them into the country without a second thought.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Ronnie hauled the luggage out to the car and did a final sniff check. Two hours later, a pale moon on thehorizon, he set off in search of a likely spot for Cal’s resting place. Around eleven o’clock he found the perfect location. There wasn’t a house in sight. Just in case, he pulled to the side of the road and sat there for ten minutes with the lights off, nursing a can of Carnation. Not a soul passed by.
Finally, his features scrunched with distaste, he dragged Cal’s body out of the trunk and along a narrow path that led to a small shack. On the door of
Aaron, looking ridiculous in velvet pants and a white fur coat, pointed his finger at Ronnie and said, “I knew we should have used an American tour manager. This never would have happened with someone who knew about these things.”
Something inside Ronnie snapped. It didn’t matter that the Belkos and all the crew and all the musicians were watching. He grabbed Aaron by his furry lapels and slammed him against the side of the bus, which was covered with oil and slush. And when Ronnie had him lined up for a massive head butt, a Mackie special, he just backed away, dusted off his hands and walked toward town. It was time for a change.
He spent three nights in Staghorn, in a seedy little room at the Queen’s Hotel, wondering how to get back to New York. He had no suitcase, no coat and less than a hundred dollars in his wallet. But those concerns would soon fade to nothing. He was on the verge of his fateful meeting with Jimmy Waters, which now, almost three years later, had led to another fleabag room in the middle of nowhere, this time with a dead body in his trunk.
He got to his feet and walked to the window, gazing out at the parking lot. No other cars in sight. No traffic on the road. Even so, he hopedto God that Cal didn’t start to reek before nightfall. And with that sour thought, he tried to sleep.
At sunset, he drove three miles to the nearest town and bought himself several small tins of evaporated milk. He called Adrian from a pay phone and asked how everything was going.
“Fine, Arsey. Tickety-boo. The drive to Campenola was a bit of a lark, you know. It’s not often we have a full day off.”
“About Cal, Ade. How are the lads taking it?”
“Relieved, I’d say, that poor Cal has moved on—though I’m sure they might feel different if they knew exactly where he had moved on to.” He laughed at his own witticism, and Ronnie could hear Kerry’s harsh cackle in the background. Like a couple of old hens, he thought.
“Of course,” Adrian continued, “Sonny’s been in a right ugly mood all day. Thinks we should cancel tomorrow’s show. But he’ll be all right. How’s everything there, Arsey?”
“Fine. I plan to be in Campenola before showtime, with or without a bass player. How’s Jim taking it?”
“Touch and go there for a while. Got tears in his eyes like he’d lost his best mate. But I made him a pot of tea and asked Eura to look in on him. When she left his trailer, she said he was sleeping like a baby.”
“Good man, Ade. See you tomorrow.”
By the time Ronnie returned to the motel, it was dark, so he took the opportunity to open his trunk and grab Cal’s suitcase. In the room, he went through the boy’s belongings one more time and found nothing that could tie the corpse to Jim. There was no driver’s licence or birth certificate, no identification at all. The only personal item in Cal’s wallet was a high school photo. Nor would there be any record of him with Customs and Immigration, even though they had crossed into Canada several weeks ago. The border guard had smiled kindly when he saw the name on the side of the bus—The Jimmy Waters Revival—and when Ronnie showed him their itinerary, playing to church groups across Ontario, the guard just waved them into the country without a second thought.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Ronnie hauled the luggage out to the car and did a final sniff check. Two hours later, a pale moon on thehorizon, he set off in search of a likely spot for Cal’s resting place. Around eleven o’clock he found the perfect location. There wasn’t a house in sight. Just in case, he pulled to the side of the road and sat there for ten minutes with the lights off, nursing a can of Carnation. Not a soul passed by.
Finally, his features scrunched with distaste, he dragged Cal’s body out of the trunk and along a narrow path that led to a small shack. On the door of
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