Voice Read Free

When?”
    “Just as soon as you say yes.”
    She snorted. “This is the worst come-on ever.”
    He rolled his weird eyes, still grinning. “News flash: Not everybody on the planet is out to fuck you.”
    “News flash: Between those who are out to fuck me and those who are out to fuck me over, I think just about everyone is covered.”
    He put his beer down. “What a lovely persecution complex you have.”
    “Persecution complex? Emotive? Did they just let you out of college?”
    “Look,” he said, steepling his hands in front of him and trying to look earnest, “I’m in a bad spot. I got the band booked for a show at some little college in West Texas. It’ll be our first college show. I don’t want to suck.”
    Case, by grace of what she assumed had to be divine intervention, kept her mouth shut.
    “It’s in two weeks,” he said. “Pays two hundred dollars.”
    “Two hundred dollars for the band, or two hundred dollars a person?”
    The guy blinked. “You, personally, will take home two hundred dollars after you play this show.”
    Shit. That was a good chunk of next month’s rent money. Three nights of shitty tips. A professional re-fretting job for her guitar, if she threw in a little extra. She’d had gigs that paid more, but not often, and only when she played with cover bands.
    “How the hell did you swing that?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “I wrote a letter to the Student Activities Committee of every college I could find in a five-hundred-mile radius. Three hundred letters. These guys bit. Booked us, sight unseen.”
    The last bit of explanation wasn’t necessary, Case thought. That they’d been booked without being heard was a given, or they wouldn’t have been booked at all.
    Two hundred bucks.
    Still, something compelled her to be honest with the guy. “I can’t save your band for you.”
    “Ouch. Don’t hold back—tell me how you really feel,” he said, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’m not asking you to save the band. Danny’s pretty damn good, and—”
    “Danny’s the drummer?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He is pretty damn good.”
    The guy nodded. “And Quentin will do all right, I think. He sometimes chokes when he gets in front of people, but he’s solid. You’ll see. We’ll be a lot better with a good guitarist.”
    She almost said something nasty about the vocals, but she stopped herself. If he was going to pay her two hundred bucks, she ought to let it go. Besides, he looked so fragile with his tiny mouth and bug eyes. He might cry.
    Somebody put a hand on her hip, and she whirled, arm already half-cocked back. It was Damon, standing too close as usual and weaving drunkenly. The rest of the band and the bony chick who’d come in with the bass player stood behind him. “Good fuckin’ show, huh?” Damon said.
    She lowered her arm halfway and took one step back, down the length of the bar. “Yeah, sure.”
    “We’re all loaded up, and I’m gonna take off,” he said. He took a step toward her.
    “Great. Get the fuck out of here. And don’t touch me again. Ever.” She took another step back.
    He didn’t get the picture, or maybe he was just deaf. He took another step toward her. “C’mon, Steph—”
    “Don’t.”
    The note of menace in her voice must have been enough to break through the drunken fog in his brain.
    “Who’s this guy?” he asked, turning to the skinny dude.
    “Fuck off, Damon,” Case said.
    The skinny guy, to give him credit, tried to calm things down. “It’s cool, man,” he said. “I’m John.” He held out a hand.
    Damon slapped his hand away. “Yeah. What the fuck are you doing here, John?”
    “Just talking business.”
    Even Case recognized that as exactly the wrong thing to say. Here it comes, she thought.
    “Business? What business do you have with my guitar player?” A light dawned in Damon’s dim brain. “Oh—you’re with the other band, the, the whatever-the-fucks.”
    “Ragman,” John said. He swallowed nervously and