The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3) Read Free Page B

today.”
    “Whatever,” I said, disgusted. “What
about merch?”
    She shook her head.
    “So we didn’t sell anything?
Stickers?”
    “Preston, we’re covering our
expenses.” I tried to say something else but she cut me off. Her worry fell
away, like she finally remembered that she was Katy Stefanic and she sure as
hell didn’t get bothered by stuff like this. “Look, this is our first
disappointing night. No big deal. Spring break happened last week and Easter’s
coming up. Plus it’s the tournament and both Louisville and UK are still in it.
You know how Morgantown gets when WVU is playing basketball this late in the
season. I don’t know, Preston, but it’s no reason to panic. Because you’re
going to get Pauly all fired up and next thing I know I’m dealing with two
crybabies the whole way to Nashville instead of one.”
    “So we’re supposed to suck it up? Can
the label help us out? With getting our money, I mean?”
    Katy sipped her tea.
    Pauly didn’t say anything either, but
he hadn’t done much to hide the fact that this last leg of the tour had worn
him out. The miles didn’t hurt so much as the hours. I didn’t ask him to burn
vacation days to shuttle me and Katy around. He volunteered. Said we couldn’t
afford union labor. And he probably did save us thousands of dollars. But I
felt like he regretted it. Or resented it. He still walked with a limp from the
accident last winter, and I cringed whenever I saw him popping ibuprofen like
Tic Tacs.
    “Forget about it, okay?” Katy kissed
me on the cheek.
    “Yeah.”
    The waitress set my food on the table
as I tried to let go of my anger. I patted Katy on the knee and smiled. “Okay.”
    My order never changed unless I wanted
sweet instead of savory, and as the smell of smothered, covered, diced and
topped hash browns hit my nose I found myself wishing I’d gotten waffles and
bacon instead.
    Pauly didn’t say a word as the
waitress set his plate down.
    “T-bone?” She said the ‘T’ so it
rhymed with ‘hay.’
    Pauly nodded.
    I said, “Don’t hear you complaining
anymore.”
    “I’m not,” Pauly said with a big
smile.
    They both dug in. Having just awoken,
I wasn’t as hungry, and took the opportunity to break down the show like we
always did once we were back on the road. I believed the analysis made us play
better, gave us a sense of what worked and what didn’t. “What do you guys think
about what went down tonight?”
    “Preston…” Katy put her fork down.
“Not now, okay? Don’t talk like somebody who left the mountains just to climb
more mountains.”
    Not the response I expected.
    “These whack jobs show up and
basically take money from our pockets. What else is there to discuss? Until
tonight this had been a pretty fun trip.” Pauly put a big bite of steak into
his mouth and said, “Look where we’re at, brother. Imagine somebody from New
York down here. They’d want to know where to get their passport stamped. It
ain’t a big deal.”
    “That’s not really what I meant. I
hoped we could talk about the music,” I said. “Besides, we didn’t have any
problems like this in Florida.”
    “Well, Florida ain’t exactly the
South. More like the biggest island in the Caribbean. Last July I got lost in
Miami hauling a load of furniture and I had to find a translator before I could
get directions. Got stuck at this bodega. Ate like seven
ham sandwiches, no lie.” Still chewing, Pauly said, “Heard the blond guy we saw
back in Louisville grew up preaching. One of the guys hanging out by the
soundboard said he got all kinds of videos on YouTube, speaking in front of big
churches. Said he was on the Today Show with Katie Couric when he was six or
seven.”
    Nobody talked while the jukebox
skipped to the next song. Like we had to observe the silence too. As soon as
“Strawberry Wine” came on Katy chimed in, saying, “The man’s name is Elijah
Clay Hicks. He’s a nut.”
    When Katy said the name I flinched.