done anything. The two brothers swayed left as Officer Harbaugh made a right turn and bounced over some loose gravel. “I hate to play this card, but I’m actually a musician. We played at the fairgrounds a few miles from here.”
“I know who you are.” She didn’t turn to him. Her head stayed forward, staring down the narrow, weather-beaten road.
“Well, now we’re talkin’,” Colton’s voice got cheerier on the spot. “In that case, you understand just how important it is that my brother and I get back to the tour bus. Austin is a long way off, and we gotta be there by the afternoon.”
The officer didn’t turn back. “Y’all two ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight.” Her voice was steady and unmoving as the rusty railroad tracks she drove over.
Kitt sighed and leaned back. The cuffs dug into his wrists, so he adjusted as best as he could. Ain’t no damn way to sit comfortable back here, but I guess that’s the idea. Roger would be pissed, but they’d still make it to the show in Texas. There was no way in hell the record company would let Colton Wade and The Guilty Party miss their first appearance on Austin City Limits. It was too damn big.
He looked forward, trying to see if they were headed anywhere close to civilization, and in the dim light of the cop’s laptop and various radios, he caught her eyes in the rearview. They hung on him, reading and studying his own. Kitt couldn’t see the woman’s mouth, but he could tell that her lips were curled up. Was she enjoying her little game of toying with the Wade brothers?
Moving his gaze anywhere but in the mirror, Kitt knew the night was just getting started. He stared into the blackness and wondered if they’d be anywhere near Austin by the time the horizon began to glow.
Roger was on the phone. He was always on the phone with someone when they were on tour. The phone calls were never good. “Then when was the last time you saw them, Kevin?”
He nodded, already flipping up his laptop screen. Roger wanted to know how many bars were in the area, and the number for the local law enforcement. That's it. Those fucking boys are getting a curfew.
“Okay, so a bar. Great. If they come back to the motel, let me know. Otherwise be ready to head to Texas without them in the morning. the itinerary hasn’t changed.” He hung up. The next number that Roger dialed was the local sheriff's office.
There wasn’t all that much in the area, so Colton and Kitt couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble. Better than downtown Nashville or some other city where everyone has their cell phones out and recording the Wade brothers’ shenanigans. ACL was a big step on the ladder, and Roger would be hung out to dry if they didn’t show. He leaned back in his rental car. It was cheap and uncomfortable, no matter how much he adjusted the seat.
Roger steeled himself to the fact that until he found Kitt and Colton, there’d be no relief of a comfortable bed. Another sleepless night on the road with Colton Wade and the Guilty Party.
After a six rings, Roger gave up. He could forgive no one being there to answer. There was probably one sheriff and a few deputies to be called on during an emergency, but to not have a voicemail? Come on. It’s fucking 2015. Bar or behind bars? With Colton it was the flip of a coin. Roger checked the dashboard, the digital display reading 3:47 in the morning. The odds significantly swung in favor of the drunk tank. With a shake of his head, Roger pulled up the address and headed towards the county seat.
Managing a bull in a china shop wasn’t what Roger had dreamed of when he signed on with Colton. He believed in the kid with every fiber of his being, but he missed the quiet, although unsuccessful, partnership he had with Raylene Evans. She was a future songwriting queen, but fate stepped in and cut her career short. He liked the simple naivety that the two of them shared. He and Raylene just wanted to put out a great album that
“I know who you are.” She didn’t turn to him. Her head stayed forward, staring down the narrow, weather-beaten road.
“Well, now we’re talkin’,” Colton’s voice got cheerier on the spot. “In that case, you understand just how important it is that my brother and I get back to the tour bus. Austin is a long way off, and we gotta be there by the afternoon.”
The officer didn’t turn back. “Y’all two ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight.” Her voice was steady and unmoving as the rusty railroad tracks she drove over.
Kitt sighed and leaned back. The cuffs dug into his wrists, so he adjusted as best as he could. Ain’t no damn way to sit comfortable back here, but I guess that’s the idea. Roger would be pissed, but they’d still make it to the show in Texas. There was no way in hell the record company would let Colton Wade and The Guilty Party miss their first appearance on Austin City Limits. It was too damn big.
He looked forward, trying to see if they were headed anywhere close to civilization, and in the dim light of the cop’s laptop and various radios, he caught her eyes in the rearview. They hung on him, reading and studying his own. Kitt couldn’t see the woman’s mouth, but he could tell that her lips were curled up. Was she enjoying her little game of toying with the Wade brothers?
Moving his gaze anywhere but in the mirror, Kitt knew the night was just getting started. He stared into the blackness and wondered if they’d be anywhere near Austin by the time the horizon began to glow.
Roger was on the phone. He was always on the phone with someone when they were on tour. The phone calls were never good. “Then when was the last time you saw them, Kevin?”
He nodded, already flipping up his laptop screen. Roger wanted to know how many bars were in the area, and the number for the local law enforcement. That's it. Those fucking boys are getting a curfew.
“Okay, so a bar. Great. If they come back to the motel, let me know. Otherwise be ready to head to Texas without them in the morning. the itinerary hasn’t changed.” He hung up. The next number that Roger dialed was the local sheriff's office.
There wasn’t all that much in the area, so Colton and Kitt couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble. Better than downtown Nashville or some other city where everyone has their cell phones out and recording the Wade brothers’ shenanigans. ACL was a big step on the ladder, and Roger would be hung out to dry if they didn’t show. He leaned back in his rental car. It was cheap and uncomfortable, no matter how much he adjusted the seat.
Roger steeled himself to the fact that until he found Kitt and Colton, there’d be no relief of a comfortable bed. Another sleepless night on the road with Colton Wade and the Guilty Party.
After a six rings, Roger gave up. He could forgive no one being there to answer. There was probably one sheriff and a few deputies to be called on during an emergency, but to not have a voicemail? Come on. It’s fucking 2015. Bar or behind bars? With Colton it was the flip of a coin. Roger checked the dashboard, the digital display reading 3:47 in the morning. The odds significantly swung in favor of the drunk tank. With a shake of his head, Roger pulled up the address and headed towards the county seat.
Managing a bull in a china shop wasn’t what Roger had dreamed of when he signed on with Colton. He believed in the kid with every fiber of his being, but he missed the quiet, although unsuccessful, partnership he had with Raylene Evans. She was a future songwriting queen, but fate stepped in and cut her career short. He liked the simple naivety that the two of them shared. He and Raylene just wanted to put out a great album that
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