Suckers Read Free Page A

his cheek in the mirror. Turning his head, he stretched his neck to see it, exploring with his fingers where he’d felt the stab of pain.
    Ray was in the other room, his voice low and fast.
    Dan came out of the bathroom to find Ray on the end of the bed clicking through TV channels: infomercials, late-late-night talk shows, public access, soft-core porn.
    “No answer,” Ray said. “I left a voicemail. Looking for the news to see if there’s anything about other people being attacked. Here.” He handed Dan the remote and brought up the contacts on his phone again. Put the phone to his ear.
    Dan clicked to another channel and landed on CNN. Nothing but talking heads and scrolling headlines about the Gaza Strip, the latest jobs report. A NASA flight engineer who’d killed her kids then taken her own life while she was in custody. Arson was suspected in the recent California fires. A bombing killed seventeen in the Balkans. Dan’s gaze moved to the window, its sheer curtains lit from the back by the street, the blackout drapes wide open. As Ray left a voicemail for someone else who might still be out there, Dan dragged the drapes shut. “Try Jamie,” he said, though that was probably useless.
    “Just did.”
    “Stick?”
    “Pissed off at being woken up while you were in the bathroom.” Stick had been fighting a cold for the past week. No surprise he’d jumped on the opportunity to crawl into a bed.
    “Any more whiskey?” Dan asked. Carey, their tour manager, was likely in bed too. That just left their errant drummer, plus Moss and Josh, and their sound guy, Greg.
    “Hey,” Ray was saying as he fished through the contents of the minibar. “Where are you? Speak up. I can’t hear you.” He tossed Dan another airplane bottle. “Who else is still there? What about Greg? Okay, do me a favor. Tell everyone to grab a cab or get a ride from someone. Do not walk back to the hotel. And don’t take a ride if it means you have to walk three blocks to get to the car. Got it?”
    Dan torqued the cap off and drank half of it down, closing his eyes as the warmth spread through his insides.
    “Don’t even stand around outside waiting for the cab to show up if you call one. Watch from inside the door. I’m serious. This fucking bat or something attacked Dan and me. No, I’m not kidding. Yeah, we’re good. Just be safe, okay?”
    At the club, surrounded by people, the only part of Dan that’d felt anything was his knuckles, their dull throb like a heartbeat—and him drinking beer to try to forget it. He closed his fist to feel it again. The memory of sheetrock buckling under it came visceral, right alongside the anger that had led him to do it. You’ve got one job to do for two fucking hours—sit behind the fucking drum kit and play what you’re supposed to when you’re supposed to. Is that too much to fucking ask?
    “Grab Jamie,” Ray was saying. “Make sure he gets in the car with you, whatever it takes. If he has to bring people back to the hotel with him, stuff them in too. Whatever it takes, just get his ass here. We can’t afford to lose our drummer with a few dates left. Yeah, call me when you all make it here. Thanks, man.” He hung up.
    Dan said, “Moss?”
    “Josh. Stick and Moss went back to the hotel as soon as they finished load out. Carey too. Since Moss isn’t answering, we’ll just hope he turned his ringer off before he turned in.”
    “Yeah.” He looked at the plastic bottle of whiskey in his hand before closing his eyes and finishing it.
    “You doing all right?” Ray asked.
    “Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?” He dropped his empty in the trash. Headlines scrolled across the bottom of CNN.
    “What do you think it was?” Ray asked.
    “The only thing I can think of is a bat.”
    “I’m no expert, but…”
    “Yeah.” Taking a seat on the end of his bed, he put his head in his hands.
    Ray said, “I’m not going to be able to fucking