two
lightning bolts crossing over the top of a barren tree. Underneath the tree,
“Cleveland Chapter” filled a rectangle on the bottom of the jacket.
Wallet chains swung low and rattled off the hunting knives
the men wore on their hips. One man wore a tight buzz cut while the other let
a frazzled, braided ponytail dangle in the middle of his back. Their dirty
jeans met scuffed, black riding boots.
“Where are we headed?” asked John.
“Shut up and follow us,” replied the man with the ponytail.
They passed through a dark hallway and into the main club
area of the Jigsaw. A bar ran parallel to the street, with glass blocks
running from the floor to the ceiling. Stale beer and cigarette smoke clung to
every surface. A pair of pool tables sat at the bottom of four steps that led
to the main floor. On the raised stage, monitors sat in silence by piles of
tangled cables.
The four men passed by the soundboard and headed to the
right of the stage. A door blocked their access to the backstage area. The
man with the buzz cut pulled a cache of keys from his pocket. He fumbled
through three or four before he found the one he wanted. The lock turned
without protest, but the hinges squealed in pain as the door swung open.
Beyond their two escorts, electric lamps blinded John and
Alex. Heavy rock grumbled at low volume like fog clinging to moors. Several
other men, all sporting the same leather jacket, sat around a table playing
poker. Others drank beer while women crawled on their laps. John glanced at a
stack of metal filing cabinets and an ancient desk in one corner. The
windowless room provided a buffer for the noise and light.
The biggest man in the room stood up.
“They’re all yours, Sully,” said the armed escorts.
Sully drained a mug of beer with one swig. His red beard
glistened with foam, and hair covered most of his face and chest. He stretched
over six feet tall, and a jet fighter could land on his shoulders. In his
other hand, he held a roach clip. The distinct aroma of burning marijuana
filled the room. Sully put the joint to his lips and inhaled. The blunt
responded. With a fiery, red ember glowing on the end, he held the toke and
released it with a steady breath. John and Alex stood still, mouths shut and
ears open.
“Which one of you is the Sleep fan?” Sully inquired.
John dropped his shoulders and unballed white-knuckled
fists.
“I am. Seen Wino with the Obsessed back in ’90.”
Sully nodded and the mass of hair kicked back and forth in
unison with his head.
“How about you, brother?” he asked Alex.
“Sleep is cool, but I’m still holding out for the Kyuss
reunion.”
“Right on, man, right on. Come over here and have a beer.”
The two burly men turned the laser sights off and set their
assault rifles against a chair. John sat on Sully’s left and Alex sat on his
right with a cooler of beer in the middle of the circle. He spied the ice
cubes inside the cooler and raised an eyebrow toward John.
“How did you find us?” Sully asked.
“We heard the radio message,” replied John.
Alex’s lips met the edge of the bottle. The cold beer hit
him like an invigorating electric jolt. Alex tilted his head back, forcing
every ounce of beer over his tongue.
“You’re the only two that have figured it out and
responded. We shot the other assholes that showed up because they were here to
pillage.”
“We came all the way from the east side,” said Alex.
“We saw you once you got off of 480. You almost got served
Molotov cocktails driving around in that army truck. Are you fucking stupid or
something?”
Sully put an emphasis on “stupid” in a brotherly, joking
way.
“That vehicle is what got us here. If we had been in
anything else, we’d be dead. Sorry to give you a scare with the truck and
camo.”
Sully laughed and the whole building shook.
“Scare us? You didn’t scare us, little man. We
lightning bolts crossing over the top of a barren tree. Underneath the tree,
“Cleveland Chapter” filled a rectangle on the bottom of the jacket.
Wallet chains swung low and rattled off the hunting knives
the men wore on their hips. One man wore a tight buzz cut while the other let
a frazzled, braided ponytail dangle in the middle of his back. Their dirty
jeans met scuffed, black riding boots.
“Where are we headed?” asked John.
“Shut up and follow us,” replied the man with the ponytail.
They passed through a dark hallway and into the main club
area of the Jigsaw. A bar ran parallel to the street, with glass blocks
running from the floor to the ceiling. Stale beer and cigarette smoke clung to
every surface. A pair of pool tables sat at the bottom of four steps that led
to the main floor. On the raised stage, monitors sat in silence by piles of
tangled cables.
The four men passed by the soundboard and headed to the
right of the stage. A door blocked their access to the backstage area. The
man with the buzz cut pulled a cache of keys from his pocket. He fumbled
through three or four before he found the one he wanted. The lock turned
without protest, but the hinges squealed in pain as the door swung open.
Beyond their two escorts, electric lamps blinded John and
Alex. Heavy rock grumbled at low volume like fog clinging to moors. Several
other men, all sporting the same leather jacket, sat around a table playing
poker. Others drank beer while women crawled on their laps. John glanced at a
stack of metal filing cabinets and an ancient desk in one corner. The
windowless room provided a buffer for the noise and light.
The biggest man in the room stood up.
“They’re all yours, Sully,” said the armed escorts.
Sully drained a mug of beer with one swig. His red beard
glistened with foam, and hair covered most of his face and chest. He stretched
over six feet tall, and a jet fighter could land on his shoulders. In his
other hand, he held a roach clip. The distinct aroma of burning marijuana
filled the room. Sully put the joint to his lips and inhaled. The blunt
responded. With a fiery, red ember glowing on the end, he held the toke and
released it with a steady breath. John and Alex stood still, mouths shut and
ears open.
“Which one of you is the Sleep fan?” Sully inquired.
John dropped his shoulders and unballed white-knuckled
fists.
“I am. Seen Wino with the Obsessed back in ’90.”
Sully nodded and the mass of hair kicked back and forth in
unison with his head.
“How about you, brother?” he asked Alex.
“Sleep is cool, but I’m still holding out for the Kyuss
reunion.”
“Right on, man, right on. Come over here and have a beer.”
The two burly men turned the laser sights off and set their
assault rifles against a chair. John sat on Sully’s left and Alex sat on his
right with a cooler of beer in the middle of the circle. He spied the ice
cubes inside the cooler and raised an eyebrow toward John.
“How did you find us?” Sully asked.
“We heard the radio message,” replied John.
Alex’s lips met the edge of the bottle. The cold beer hit
him like an invigorating electric jolt. Alex tilted his head back, forcing
every ounce of beer over his tongue.
“You’re the only two that have figured it out and
responded. We shot the other assholes that showed up because they were here to
pillage.”
“We came all the way from the east side,” said Alex.
“We saw you once you got off of 480. You almost got served
Molotov cocktails driving around in that army truck. Are you fucking stupid or
something?”
Sully put an emphasis on “stupid” in a brotherly, joking
way.
“That vehicle is what got us here. If we had been in
anything else, we’d be dead. Sorry to give you a scare with the truck and
camo.”
Sully laughed and the whole building shook.
“Scare us? You didn’t scare us, little man. We
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