Amos's Killer Concert Caper Read Free

Dunc. “This area is off limits. How did you two get in here?”
    Dunc cleared his throat. “Uhum.… We have a key. We’re the cleaning crew.”
    â€œThe cleaning crew. That’s a good one! You little twirps are after an autograph, just like the rest of the dolts who listen to Road Kill.”
    Amos peeped out from behind Dunc. “That’s not true, mister. It’s like this. My friend here was trying to help me earn money because I flooded my mom’s room and my sister stole my money, and Melissa likes these guys, so—”
    â€œI’ll give you punks exactly five seconds to clear out of here.”
    â€œHold off, Mange.” Roy and the band walked in from the stage door. “I invited them.”
    The redheaded man glared at him. “Are you out of your mind? You of all people should know we can’t afford to trust anybody. You know what’s been happening lately.”
    â€œThese two are okay.” Roy picked up his guitar. “They can stay.”
    Mange’s look turned ugly. His eyes narrowed. He spun around and stomped back toward the office door.
    â€œWhew.” Amos sat on the stage steps. “That guy is scary.”
    â€œDon’t let him bother you.” Roy winked at them. “He thinks because he’s our manager, and because he used to have his own band, that he’s in charge around here.”
    The drummer, a thin guy with a long pointed nose, greasy hair, and beady eyes, sat down on his stool and picked up his sticks. “We gonna play or what?”
    Roy frowned. “This charming fellow is Lizard. He’s a heck of a drummer but a little short on manners. The one that looks like a mountain plays bass. We call him Horse. The lead guitar is Hairball.”
    The expressions on the band members’ faces didn’t change. They stared at the boys like stones.
    Amos glanced from Horse to the one they called Hairball. He looked like a round puff of fuzz. It was hard to tell if there was even a body under all that hair unless he moved.
    Dunc pulled Amos toward the first row of seats. “Why don’t we just sit over here, out of your way, so you can practice?”
    Roy laughed. “Don’t mind these guys. They’ve been on the road so long, they’ve forgotten how to be normal.”
    The drummer hit his sticks together four times and the band started playing. They were loud and the song they were working on was about either smashing things and hurting people or running over a cow with a locomotive—Dunc couldn’t quite tell which for sure.
    When they were finished, Roy turned to the boys. “Well? What did you think?”
    Dunc scratched his head. “To tell you the truth, Roy, I think it was—”
    Amos elbowed him. “Interesting. He was about to say your music was definitely interesting.”
    After a few more songs, Roy turned to the band. “That’s enough for today. You guys can go get some sleep. We’ll practice again tomorrow before showtime.” He sat down on the edge of the stage and hung hislegs over the side. He looked at Dunc, who had a look on his face like he had just swallowed cod liver oil. “I can’t say I blame you for not liking it. I’m not too crazy about it myself.”
    â€œThen why do you play it?” Dunc asked.
    Roy shrugged. “Mange wrote it. He says it’s the kind of music the kids want nowadays. Mange says if you want to stay on top, you have to play what kids like.”
    â€œAmos and I are kids, and we don’t like it.”
    â€œYes, we do,” Amos blurted. “Well … sort of.”
    Roy looked up. “Maybe you have a point. If I had my way, I’d play my own stuff.” He reached back for his guitar. “Songs like this one.”
    Roy started playing. The song had a rowdy beat, but the words were different from before. There were more of them—it actually had lyrics. It